


There's a space reserved for you (but I've filled it up with all my stuff and I'm drowning in it - if you could pull me out, I'd very much appreciate it).

by Pendragons Dragonlord (PseudoAuthor)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Anxiety, Compulsive Hoarding, F/M, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3218243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoAuthor/pseuds/Pendragons%20Dragonlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has secrets. This is Arthur's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's a space reserved for you (but I've filled it up with all my stuff and I'm drowning in it - if you could pull me out, I'd very much appreciate it).

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Swearing. Minor character death. Unbeta'd = all mistakes are mine.

Worn out by his father's never ending sighs of disappointment during his budget projections for Pendragon Ltd, Uther yet manages to smile. "What is he doing?" he asks as he places a hand gently against his wife’s hip. At four years of age, Arthur is currently sporting the most serious of facial expressions.

Ygraine jumps expelling fast little gasps. With a quick heatless glare her attention turns back to their son. Both of them stand; hidden behind the shadows of the doorway. "I don't know. I followed him from the corridor. He's been opening the kitchen cupboards for the last few minutes."

"Looks like he's stopped with the cupboards. Was he any trouble today?" Quickly kissing her cheek his hands move to unknot the ridiculous pale gray tie that constricts his breathing and represents everything that he hates about his job. It's just so...boring and monotonous and he hopes to change it once he accepts control from his father - not only for his sake, but for Arthur's too.

Ygraine grabs his hands just as he winces and pulls the tie tighter. First change he's going to make at Pendragon Ltd? Get rid of all ties. "Why waste time asking the question when you already know the answer?" she answers back, her hand dangling the strip of material in front of his face until he stares at it with crossed eyes.

"Because we have a boy and one day I expect that answer to change.” God help them.

Ygraine turns around again to watch Arthur, whispering back, “You really expect the answer to turn into a yes?”

In all honesty? No he doesn't – Arthur is a brilliant child; intelligent, healthy, imaginative, loving and above all, happy. Uther hopes that the littlest Pendragon will never change.  Just to irk her though, he responds with a faux worried sigh and a ‘yes’. 

“Arthur’s found the bins,” Ygraine reports.

Wait, what?

Sure enough Arthur pulls his jacket sleeve up to his elbow. To be honest, Uther is slightly surprised at the restraint that Arthur’s just shown; making sure his sleeve doesn't get dirty instead of plunging his hand all willy-nilly into the bin.

Oh dear lord, Arthur’s playing with the rubbish. "Well, why aren't we stopping him? No child of mine will go through a bin!" The words are said in a harsh whisper. For some reason his mind flashes to the grubby little street kids from the movie _Oliver Twist_ and for less than a second, really it’s like a flash – Oliver’s slim, grimy face is replaced with Arthur’s, round chubby one and he panics. It’s absolutely him overreacting – on some small part, he realises that, but, Arthur’s playing with _the bloody rubbish._

He barely manages a full step forwards when his wife’s hand clamps tight around his arm. "Uther, wait you stupid fool….just watch."

"Watch? You want us to watch our son rifle through day old scraps - he's dressed in his suit!"

Ygraine whispers again. “Hush now."

The Pendragons' watch Arthur; suit clad bottom wiggling about as he sticks his hand in the bin and pulls out the cardboard paper-towel tubing sans paper-towel and places it in the colander. Arthur cocks his head, blonde bangs tilting sideways, blue eyes looking curiously at the roses on the dining table. He proceeds to stick his hand again the bin and let's a little whoop of joy as chubby fingers clench around purple cellophane. It crinkles as he drags it out and sets it in the colander as well. Apparently done with his gathering he turns making his way up the stair case.

Uther’s knows that he’s frowning…he can feel the creases in his forehead. "What was that?"

"I don't know. C'mon." Ygraine takes Uther's hand and together they walk up the stairs to Arthur's room. "Sweetheart? I'm coming in."

Arthur's room is large having already been built with an en-suite, walk-in robe and a study.

Ygraine jokes that the only thing that's missing is a kitchen. Uther wryly replies that if they added a kitchen, then future-Arthur may never leave. She slaps him gently across the stomach, belatedly adding: "I hope he never leaves." To which Uther just nods agreeably because, obviously, he knows better than to contradict a mother's love for her son. And she'd probably hit him, again...only harder. 

They spot Arthur inside the study that for the moment acts as his playroom, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. His shirtsleeves haphazardly pushed up to the crease of his elbows, suit jacket next to him.

"You'll have to change him before the luncheon," Uther sighs, taking in the wrinkles and dust on the dark coloured clothing.  Ygraine ignores him and walks towards their son.

Quietly she kneels besides him. "Hello. What are you up to?"

Arthur grins. "Makin' a dinosaur."

"With the colander?" she asks gently.

Arthur’s grin falters a little as if he’s unable to understand why his mother cannot see what he does. "It's its body."

Ygraine makes an understanding noise and smooths her hand across the purple cellophane. “How about this?”

Arthur’s little hand sneaks past hers to unfold the little dog-ear in the cellophane’s corner. “He breathes fire,” he says.

“Sweetheart, dinosaurs don’t breathe fire.”

Arthur’s eyebrows pull down towards the top of his nose. “But all dinosaurs breathe fire…and fly?”

Ygraine claps her hands finally understanding and cries, “Oh! Dragons, love! You’re making a dragon!” She laughs, running a hand through Arthur’s hair and begins to explain the difference between dragons and dinosaurs.

During their exchange Uther looks around the room, already seeing little changes that will take place as Arthur matures. Perhaps a nice mahogany desk in the centre of the room taking place of where his Lego city currently stands, the sky decals will be removed, making way for wall paper. He stops at a cupboard and pulls the doors open intending to reposition the wooden spoon that's half falling out.

Uther’s not sure why there’s a wooden spoon in the cupboard. 

He takes a step forward as he opens its doors and steps back as its contents spill out before his shoes.

Old tissue boxes, cereal boxes, gum wrappers, sweets, toilet paper rolls?  Slinkys…garden gnomes? Where the hell did Arthur get garden gnomes from? They don't even have a garden. They have a courtyard.

"Ygraine." He shifts aside to let Ygraine see the mess at his feet.

She looks at him confused. "Arthur. Why is all of that in the cupboard?"

Their son doesn’t look up from his construction. Barely audible, they manage to hear his voice say plaintively, "I need it."

"Are you sure?" Ygraine asks whilst stroking Arthur’s back.  

Uther toes through some of the clutter and spots an old broken record. He picks it up. "This is broken.” The words are out of his mouth faster than he realises, especially after Arthur just said he needed it…but why would Arthur need a broken record? “It should be thrown out.” 

At this Arthur stands and runs over to him, hands outstretched for the record. "No Daddy, please! Mine! Give me!" he screams. His face is growing red, eyes watering and lip quivering. 

"Arthur!" they both say shocked.

Arthur continues to hiccup, trying to reach the record. His fingers scrabble at the material of Uther’s suit trousers as if he’s trying to climb up and grab it himself. There is a litany of 'mine', and 'no' and it breaks Uther's heart so he lowers his hand and gives the record to Arthur who clutches it to his stomach.

He catches Ygraine’s eye. “I don’t think we should take Arthur out today.”

Quietly she stands up, eyes wide and shocked at Arthur’s outburst.

It’s a rarity – except rare in the sense that it’s never happened before. At least not in his presence, and judging by his wife’s look, not in hers either.  “But what about the lunch? You still have to go.”

“I don’t – it…it doesn’t matter.” He takes a tentative step towards his little boy, and crouches before him. “I’m going to clean him up a little. Would you mind putting everything back in the closet? Leave the dragon. He can finish it after.” Gently he wraps his hand around Arthur’s shoulder, scoops him up and stands. Arthur’s legs dangle in the air knocking into his stomach gently. “Is that okay with you? We’ll put you in your pyjamas and then you can come and finish your dragon.” The broken record digs into his back, an uncomfortable reminder to what he’s just witnessed. 

Arthur gives a little nod, his chest still heaving; eyes still wet, face still blotchy and red.  

**...**

"Sweetheart, come here for a moment please."

Arthur looks up from his drawing of a car with a giraffe’s head sticking out from the window and runs to Ygraine who has her arms crossed and a stern frown across her face. "What's the matter mummy?"

"This is," she says, pointing to his room.

He surveys his room carefully and squints his eyes because Leon said that everything looks different when you can see the flash of your eye-lashes. Nothing changes although…his vision does go a little blurry. He opens his eyes properly and stares. There's nothing wrong with his room. "What is?"

She pushes him into the room and wraps an arm around his shoulder. "This room, my son, is a pigsty." She speaks as if she's extending a royal decree. It makes him smile. "We have discussed these matters before. You were bequeathed with storage box. You were also given commands from up above-"

"You mean God?" Arthur frowns. Why does God care what his room looks like?

She snickers. "I meant your father - though I'm sure he'll love hearing that."

"Oh."

"I've tried to keep him at bay, but he caught a glimpse of it this morning as he went to the airport, you forgot to shut your door I suppose. He wasn't very happy. He's considering pulling your from football as punishment."

At this, he can feel his eyes begin to fill up with tears. His father can take away anything but football. He's really good. The coach said that he had talent and without football he wouldn't have met Leon or Elyan, and there's this new kid called Lance who's so polite that all the mothers coo and want to pinch his cheeks and it makes Arthur laugh because the attention makes Lance turn pink like a flamingo. "No!"

His mother pulls him in close and kisses the top of his hair. "Hush now. If this room is clean by tomorrow and is kept in a suitable state for the next week, your football aspirations are safe. I promise."

She pats his back and he frowns trying to figure out where to start. "I shall go forth and begin," he says, making her laugh and clap her hands. He steps into his room deciding to start right at the back but once he gets there all he does is stare. He doesn’t know where to start because everything is important to him, from the piles of shredded up paper that sit under Mr Felix the panda to the little collection of glitter that calls his windowsill home.

His mother’s voice startles him out of his considerations, “Would you like me to help you? 

That sounds like a much better idea.

They settle together in a far corner of his room and begin. Ygraine pulls out a stack of papers and leafs through its contents, putting them into piles and then declares that they are to be tossed. Arthur feels panic settle low in his chest.

"Can I see which ones you're throwing out?"

She pushes the piles towards him and watches him carefully. The first few papers are drawings that he deigned not worthy of his artistic collection (all contained in a folder under his bed) – but important nonetheless, under that laid magazines for cars and scrap papers filled with mathematical sums for school - his teacher was cruel.

The pile of papers migrates to under the covers of his bed.  "Arthur, you can't keep all of that."

"Why not?"

Reaching behind him, his mother fans the sheets. "Well, let's look at this one," she says scanning through until she spots a picture of a dragon who seems to be talking to a small dark haired boy in a field. The boy’s face is mostly erased out, the dragon large and oversized with a shoe print of dirt covering most of the sky. "You've stepped on it, and you removed the face - you don't really want it do you?"

Yes, he does.

Arthur’s fingers tremble as he takes it and holds the picture close to his face. The boy's face wasn't right, no matter how many times he rubbed it out and sketched it again.

He tried green eyes…and then brown…and then grey…and then…he gave up because the constant rubbing out pilled the paper and he couldn’t bear to mar it any more than he already had.

Carefully, trying not the crease the boy’s unfinished face, he folds the paper and puts it in his pocket.

He hears his mother sigh.

**...**

They are fighting again.

Arthur sighs, mouth turning down in a frown and pushing aside his reading assignment. His teacher has asked them to rewrite the ending to fairy tale of their choosing, along with illustrations to accompany it. It’s apparently going to be their show and tell for Monday.

He wanted to rewrite the ending of King Arthur. In his story, Mordred never killed Arthur, and they all lived happily ever after with Merlin doing spells in his tower. If he had to choose, he prefers the happier ending. The original is sad and the first time his mother told it to him, he cried – though no one is supposed to know that - boys aren’t supposed to cry.  Unfortunately, according to his teacher - Mr K, King Arthur isn’t a fairy tale.

He’s settled on The Ugly Duckling. He’s changing the fact that the duckling who turns into a swan goes off with the other swans – instead, he’s going to have the other swans help it find it’s parents, because really, what sort of parents leave their children alone. _Why wasn’t its mum there to protect duckling from the bullies?_ he thinks.

The door slamming shut makes him jump in his seat and if he strains his ears he can hear his mother screaming in anger.

His shoulders slump and he fiddles nervously with his pencil. All they ever seem to do is fight now and growing pile of their belongings under his bed only prove it.

Moving from his desk he puts his unfinished homework away and looks around his room, eyes landing on the football that Leon gave him for his birthday.  Picking up the football he kicks it few times before losing interest and half-heartedly watches it roll under his bed.

He winces hearing the smash of glass against a wall.

Now Arthur’s beginning to feel scared. He’s never heard them do anything other than argue – he gasps as there’s another sound of glass smashing and his father’s panicked cry.

Before he knows it, his legs are carrying him down the stairs and towards the foyer of the house. Arthur’s steps falter and he hangs back hiding behind a chair, just peeking his eyes over the top of its upholstery. Four large porcelain vases are laying in pieces around his parents. His mother is red faced, blonde hair pulled free from her ponytail, the tendrils around her face drenched in sweat. Fury flashes in her eyes. Across from her, Uther just looks apologetic, yet still slightly defiant. 

“Ygraine please.”

“Please what?” she screams. “Forgive you?” Uther stares at her. “Allow for your child and your…your-“ she rushes towards him, sentence unfinished, and slaps him across the face leaving a red tinge upon his cheek.

“Mum, stop!” he launches himself out from his hiding spot and rushes between them. “Mum, dad, what’s happening?!”

Surprise crosses their faces and Ygraine breaks down, body shuddering with sobs, sinking down boneless to the marble floor. 

Uther looks torn between comforting her and addressing Arthur whose lip is starting to tremble watching his mother. “Arthur. You need to go upstairs.”

His dad steps closer to him just as Arthur turns to look at his mother still crying silently on the floor. “But…what about mum, I can’t-“

Uther pushes him gently out the door, eyes downcast but still visibly red and bloodshot. “I’ll sort it out. Please son, upstairs.” From the corner of his eyes Arthur catches sight of the black handles of a suitcase near the door; his father’s suit jacket is draped over it.

His throat closes tightly and he flings himself into Uther’s arms, squeezing him tightly around the neck, tears slipping down his face.

Something is going to change tonight.

Carefully, his father untangles his arms and again pushes him in the direction of the stairs. He crosses the halfway mark of the stairway running, feet thumping across the landing, and slides into his parent’s bedroom. He tears open the first drawer of the dressing table, frantically scrabbling through its contents before finding a set of diamond cufflinks and one of his mother’s hairbrushes. Both are carried into his room and deposited in a box. He crawls under the bed, nails struggling to find purchase in the floorboard, impatiently waiting for the little snick of floorboard detaching from its home and quickly pushes the box into it.

“Sweetheart?”

His mother’s voice reverberates through the corridor and he rushes to replace the floorboard and crawl out from under the bed. Dusting off his shirt and pants his flings himself into the study, hands shakily picking up his lead pencil.

“Arthur. Can I talk to you?” his mother walks in, face obviously washed, hair retied. Her eyes are still red, and there’s a tissue clutched in her hand.

Expecting to see his father coming in behind her, he waits, thinking that they’re both going to explain what happened downstairs. When his father doesn’t he looks up at his mother who bites her lip. “Where’s dad?”

As if walking towards a spooked horse, Ygraine places her hands out. “Oh my darling baby boy,” she begins, “you know how I’ve told you that all parents argue, and that your father and myself are no different? And how we both love you, and we’ll try to figure it out so that we aren’t arguing anymore?"

He nods, because she has.

“Well, your father and I just argued. But, this is something that may take a little while to figure out. I’m sorry that you saw it get that bad…and I promise that it will never happen again.” Her voice breaks, “Your father is going to live somewhere else, for a little while-“

“Dad’s going somewhere else?!” He can’t believe that he’s not going to have a dad anymore. “Why? I…mum, tell him to come back…I didn’t mean to take them!” he cries, running to his closet to pull out his dad’s favourite pair of socks and tennis shoes. “Here, I’m sorry, now we have to get him!” He drops the clothing at his mother’s feet and grabs her hand, trying to pull her out of the door.

“Arthur- Arthur, I need you to listen to me – stop it!” she shouts.

Arthur drops her hand, and steps away.

“I’m sorry, so sorry.” Ygraine rubs at her eyes tiredly. “Sweetheart,” she says and crouches down to look less threatening, “I am so sorry for yelling at you. And I am so sorry for hitting your father. I lost my temper with him because he made me very angry – but that is no excuse to hit someone alright Arthur? I was wrong to do that.”

He doesn’t dare move.

“What we are fighting about has absolutely nothing to do with you, do you understand me? You have done nothing wrong, you are our little angel. Your father left because I asked him to. To sort this problem out, we can’t stay in the same house – it’s temporary, okay? Just for a little while.” She puts her hand out waiting for him to come closer. “Do you understand? Oh I hope you understand,” she finishes quietly.

Automatically, “I understand,” escapes his lips, and his mother gives him a watery smile. He doesn’t understand. All he knows is that when his mother tucks him in that night and goes to bed the house feels empty as if all the love has been sucked out from the chimney.

Two months later his mother taps on his door, lips pulled in a tight little line. “Can you come downstairs your father wants you to meet someone?”

“In a minute?” he tries. His sketch of a castle is nearly done. All he has left to do is add the colours.

Ygraine isn’t amused and she responds in a strained voice, “Now sweetheart.”

He huffs, and follows his mother down to the sitting room.  

There’s a girl sitting on their couch.

“Arthur!” his father smiles standing up from where he perched himself at the edge of the ottoman. He ushers Arthur into the room. “I want you to meet Morgana.” The false cheer disintegrates making way for uncomfortable silence. “She’s going to be living with us.”

Ygraine is watching it all from just outside the room. Arthur’s turns back to look at her. She just watches him back, and inclines her head in Morgana’s direction, eyes not turning to look at Uther once.

“H-hi,” Arthur says unsurely.

Morgana glares at him, arms never uncrossing from in front of her chest, mouth never shifting from the ugly snarl that settles across it now.

“Why don’t I let you two get to know each other a little, and I’ll get you something to eat.” Uther hastily stands and leaves for the kitchen brushing past his wife and his steps faltering as if he’s been burnt.

One could argue that Uther just fled like a coward.

Awkwardly the silence stretches on.

Ygraine takes her leave no doubt going back to her bedroom. Though Uther moved back a month ago, they have taken to separate rooms on opposite sides of the house. Breakfasts are never together, and neither is dinner.

Arthur looks at his feet, bare toes wiggling on the cold floor. He hazards a look up taking in Morgana’s dark chestnut hair and black clothing, her green catlike eyes watch him from across the room, mouth still in that snarl.

“You’re very small.” Her voice is like steel.

“I’m ten!” he replies slightly miffed. He’s not that small…Richie Jenkins is smaller than him…mind you, Richie Jenkins is the smallest boy in his class.

She snorts. “Well I’m thirteen.”

Getting to the heart of the matter, trying to figure out where the hostility comes from, Arthur asks, “Why are you here?”

Morgana’s snarl falters. Still laced with a hard jagged quality she tells him, “’Cause my mum died.”

Arthur’s curiosity isn’t sated. “What about your dad?” He asks, cautiously edging his way onto the arm chair trying not to be noticed.

Morgana sends him a withering glare like he’s a squashed bug underneath her shoe. “Dead too…and he wasn’t my dad.”

The last part confuses him greatly. “How can your dad not be your dad?”

“’Cause he’s not alright?” Frustration laces her voice and Arthur gets the feeling that she’d rather be anywhere than here. Her legs swing upwards and she rearranges herself - her shoe-clad feet are up on the upholstery, knees bent in an uncomfortable angle whilst her torso remains upright.

The rebuke at the tip of his tongue, to not get the couch dirty, withers away as she stares at him.

He doesn’t mean to be nosey. He just wants to know what all this has to do with her sitting on his couch. “So if your dad’s not your dad, then who’s you dad?”

At this point, Uther comes back into room holding a tray of sandwiches and juice. Arthur glances at him and then looks over to Morgana who stares back at him coolly. He looks back at his dad. 

The statement she delivers is simple and devoid of emotion. “You’re looking at him.”

It takes him a while to register what she’s said. Uther stands still, watching Arthur carefully.

Arthur’s not stupid, all the puzzle pieces fit together and it takes one look into his father’s eyes to know what that means. 

Arthur doesn’t come out of his room for a week.

Morgana doesn’t come out for longer.  

  **...**

Valiant, Arthur decides one afternoon after intervening in a fight between said teen and a boy (who he much later finds out is Merlin), a dark haired little string of a thing, is an A-grade asshole.

The conclusion isn’t difficult to come by. Valiant doesn’t do anything to dissuade that notion instead wearing it proudly like a badge of honour. He is the beast that cannot be tamed – at least that’s what he’s told the girls.

Whether it’s racking up a truancy list  the size of Arthur’s arm, talking back to teacher, the few times when he does decide to spoil class with his acerbic presence or generally being an all-round meanie, everyone knows that Valiant is a crazy son of a gun. Everyone, it seems, except for Arthur.

It’s just a glaringly obvious example of how much Arthur can ignore something when he doesn’t want to acknowledge it.

There isn’t really a story to tell with how they came to be friends. He doesn’t remember the first day that he met Valiant or what it was that made him want to be his mate in the first place. God help him for thinking that Valiant had any redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Actually, now, come to think of it, he not sure what Valiant saw in him either.

What he does remember is the look on Leon’s face as he walked passed him with Valiant’s hulking arm across his bony shoulders - the day after Leon had returned from his one month holiday to Australia. He also remembers Valiant’s cruel laughter as he caught sight of Leon’s red sunburn that spanned across most of his skin and blended with his hair– “Leon the Lobster!” Valiant had yelled.

Arthur still cringes when he thinks about it two years later – firstly from the fact that it was a horrible thing to say and secondly because it wasn’t all that good of an insult. He’s just thankful that Leon is a better person that he is. Loyal to a fault, even if he at the age of fourteen he had been sidelined for a prick who currently still hasn’t made his way past grade seven.

Arthur’s grown up though now. Well as grown up as one can be when they are fourteen years old and realising that their ‘best friend’ is a prick. 

“What did you just say to me?” Valiant spits.

Oh, crap. Really he called Valiant a prick out loud. “You heard me.”

They’re standing outside Arthur’s house. Arthur stands right in front of the doorway, hands braced on both sides blocking the exit. His bag sits on the floor like a boulder. Valiant has situated himself on the paved steps. He’s two steps down from Arthur but his height more than makes up for it.

“You think you’re better than me?”

“Course not. My parents don’t let-”

“Bullshit. I know Leon the Lobster and that other bloke have been in.”

“That’s different. They know my folks.”

“Then let me in and I’ll meet your ‘folks’. Unless you’re worried I’d pinch something. The all mighty Arthur Pendragon – does your family shit diamonds?”

Arthur splutters.

“Hey leave him alone!”

A skinny kid comes careening from around the corner and stands right in front of the steps.

“You in whose army pipsqueak?” Valiant taunts.

The kid tilts his head forwards in Arthur’s direction. “His you dickwad.”

For some reason this sparks Valiant’s anger more than Arthur ever could.

An almighty roar doesn’t get lost in the breeze as Valiant jumps from his step onto the kid below. His fists fly, red drops sprinkling onto the ground and tracking through the cracks and spidery webs of the pavement beneath them.

Arthur is struck dumb until he hears the unmistakeable crack of a bone breaking. Deep down, he knows that it’s not Valiant’s skeleton that is taking the hit. The sound sends him to action, sprinting down the steps and hurling himself onto the massive expanse of Valiant’s back.

“Get the hell off him!” Arthur screams.

Valiant flips him over so he lands on his back. He’s winded but manages to turn onto his hands and knees and stares in sick fascination as one of Valiant’s hands hover over the kid’s throat.

“Are you deaf? Get the fuck off him!” the vehemence in his voice doesn’t surprise him…the swearing on the other hand – if his mother had caught him, he would be eating bars of soap faster than he could let out another four lettered abomination.

Anger pulses through his veins and he runs with full force, shoulder hitting Valiant’s nose, blood spurting a mile high.

There is no cry of pain. Instead, Valiant growls deep in his throat and spits out a putrid mixture of blood, snot and saliva onto the footpath. It seems like the war has just begun, but instead Valiant backs down, hand covering his nose, and a grinning bloody smile that reminds Arthur of a shark. “You go and defend you Nancy boy. Who’d want to look in your stupid house anyways?” As soon as it started, everything finishes. Valiant slinks away. Arthur sucks in deeps breaths. The kid is still down on the footpath.

“Hey…wake up.” Arthur carefully crouches next to the dark haired boy perhaps slightly further away than necessary because he doesn’t want him lashing out.

The kid groans and sits up. He coughs once and scratches absently at the graze on his cheek. “Thanks mate.”

Arthur’s brow furrows. The kid sounds perfectly alright, as if he just hadn’t gotten the shit kicked out of him.

The kid shakes his head, hand moving up to prod at his temple and blinks once.

“Do I know you?”

“I’m Merlin.” _Nope, not a bloody clue who you are._ Arthur waits taking in Merlin’s appearance. He wasn’t kidding when he described Merlin a stick…or maybe pole or string bean is more appropriate. Merlin crawls to his hands and knees letting out a gasp of pain, and quickly stands up, slightly hunched over as if to protect his midsection. “I’m a year lower than you.” Merlin shoots a smile at him all bright and shiny even though his eyes seem unfocused.

It sours his mood.

Merlin is now a reminder of his failure.

“So I don’t know you then?” He needs to get Merlin away.

“Guess not.” Merlin says.

He expects to see is Merlin’s smile dim. “So explain to me how we’re mates?”

“My mistake then.” Merlin’s grin grows wider.

It makes him uncomfortable.

Arthur shoves Merlin aside, ignoring the mewl of pain that comes as Merlin’s arm is jostled. “Just piss off alright.” He tells himself that he does not feel bad (he does) and that Merlin means nothing to him (he doesn’t for now).

As the door shuts behind him. Merlin fades from his existence.

The next day Arthur approaches Leon, shoes scuffing the ground in agitation. He’s not exactly used to being on this side of the fence – the one where he is in the wrong and has to make amends. As he steps up to the table he offers Leon a quick nod. “Hey.”

Lance’s head pops out from behind Leon’s shoulder before he has a chance to respond. “Arthur.”

The look on Lance’s face seems wary. It makes Arthur’s palms sweat knowing that his friends are so close in distance yet so far away emotionally. They’ll never be strangers to him, and even applying the term ‘acquaintances’ to these two – mates who spent a rainy afternoon playing knights when he was seven, and tried to figure out if Morgana was a witch only to catch colds in their pursuit and therefore confirming his suspicions – makes his stomach roll over and dread race through his body.

He nods stiffly. “Lance.”

Trying to focus on Lance who’s speaking and not Leon who still has his head turned to his shoes, he puts his hands in his pockets. “I heard Valiant tried to get into your place.”

Arthur nods cringing at the thought of that lug stomping through his house. “He didn’t take kindly to knowing that you two had been.”

“Then Merlin came.”

The way Lance says it – so matter of fact, makes Arthur pause.

“Yeah…he got beaten up.”

Using his hands to push himself slightly of the top of the table, Lance turns to fully face him, mouth pinched with confusion. “That’s not what Merlin told me.” Before Arthur has a chance to question him, Lance continues, “I was worried his parents would make him move out of the country – he just moved schools.”

Knowing that Merlin’s changed schools is troubling, but for the life of him, he can’t work out why. Instead he changes the topic, moving on from the odd scrawny boy.  “I was thinking, you guys want to come over? It’s been a while.”

This time it isn’t Lance who speaks.

“I can’t.” Leon says, his eyes moving to meet Arthur’s.

Arthur doesn’t expect those two words to sting as much as they do. “Oh…yeah, I-I understand.”

“I’m getting braces this afternoon. Frankie’s sister got braces last year; he said it might her a right bitch. Not that I’m going to bitch about it, but mum’s keeping me home until Thursday cause their pulling a tooth out too. I can come around after, if that’s okay?”

The grin breaks out before he can stop it. “How about you Lance?”

Lance surveys him with in indecipherable look.

“Arthur doesn’t do sorry Lance.” Leon rolls his eyes hopping off the table. “Geez mate after knowing him all these years…You waiting for a written invitation?”

The look slowly melts away and he also gets off the table, dusting off the back of his shorts and white untucked shirt. “In Arthur’s writing? I’d translate the Rosetta faster than that scribble.”

“Watch it! My writing is brilliant.”

“What like your apologies?” Lance shoves his arm good-naturedly but the smile is tight around his eyes.

Arthur promises to get rid of the look as quick as he can.

  **...**

“Arthur! You’re going to be late!”

“Morgana took my football!” He glares at his sister. “Give me the ball you stupid-“

“Arthur’s swearing at me!”

Arthur’s mouth drops open, indignation flooding through him. “You lying…mum, I didn’t! She’s lying!”

“For goodness sake. I don’t care – Arthur, I’m leaving, with or without you. Morgana we’ll talk about you taking other peoples belongings later.”

Football practice is just up the street from their house so they run together. His mum keeps a close distance behind him as his feet pound the pavement and the park enters his sight. Within ten minutes they are both panting at the front of the gate, Ygraine breathing quickly and Arthur flushed and warmed-up.

“I’ll pick you up at five. If you want Leon and Lance can come too…and Elyan?”

“Elyan has to pick up Gwen from Uncle Gaius.”

“Why is she there?”

“Sick – Elyan think she caught something from some girl called Mary.”

“Sure it wasn’t typhoid.”

“Typhoid Mary – that’s very funny.” He rolls his eyes with fake embarrassment.

“Thought it was one of my better ones.” His mother smiles and kisses him on the cheek. Strangely enough, his mum doling out affection isn’t embarrassing despite the snickering he gets from others around him. “Okay. Have a good practice love. I’ll see you later.”

He runs into the park. Leon jogs up to him with Elyan who has his wrist in a cast.

“You alright?”

“Unfortunate accident with a skateboard and Gwen in the driveway.”

“I thought Gwen was sick?”

“Just a little, she’ll be right in no time…me on the other hand.” Arthur can’t help the snort, and Elyan rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Funny Arthur.”

Elyan’s regaling the tale of Gwen falling on top of his arm as the skateboard flew out from underneath her when a screech of tires and a thump make the birds scatter from the trees and the busy street stop as if frozen in time.

“Probably a dog got hit, yeah?” Arthur says, voice slightly higher than usual.

“I don’t think it was a dog. Look at everyone.”

They scan the street, eyes searching until Lance runs up to them like the devil is chasing him. He’s crying. Big gulping sobs that run tremors through his body.

They all crowd around him, but he pushes them away hands latching onto Arthur like a lifeline. He starts dragging him out of the park and down the street.

“Stop! Lance, what’s wrong? Mate, let go of me.”

Lance stops at the thick circle of people and hiccups a sob.

“It’s you mum.”

“Lance?”

Lance takes his hand, and pushes past the dozens of people with hands up to their faces in open horror.  The scene isn’t one that Arthur will ever forget.

A man sitting on the curb with blood down his temple.

Blanket over his back.

Hands cradling his head.

The car.

Windshield covered in blood.

Glass shattered into a million pieces.

A dent in the bonnet.

Front left tyre touching the handles of a purple handbag.

Paramedics yelling numbers.

Gloves soaked in blood.

Blond hair moving listlessly as they work on the body.

Arthur takes a step forward with Lance’s hand now clenched in his own and finally looks at the woman’s face.

“Son, you need to move back.” A policeman starts to usher them aside. “Please.”

“That’s…oh Jesus Christ,” he wheezes. “That’s my mum.” The policeman stops and wordlessly drops his hand allowing them to get closer. Arthur’s knees buckle right next to the paramedic who sits back on his haunches. Lips drawn tight. Defeat in her shoulders. “Why are you stopping?!”

“Time of death…”

_No._

“10:46AM.”

“Don’t give up on her! Mum, can you hear me?” He crawls around to her face – marred with red, eyes closed, face bruised. It looks so very wrong. “Mum, wake up,” he says softly. He lifts her head up onto his lap. “It’s Arthur. Y-you have to wake up.” A tear drop lands on her forehead and makes a lazy trail down her nose before its path is impeded by drying blood. “You- fucking hell, you gotta yell at Morgana for taking my football. Mum, please.”

Lance sits next to him, not touching, but a comforting presence as Arthur stares wordlessly at the cooling body in his lap. There’s still glass decorating her hair. Pebble-like chunks that feel like a thousand pinpricks shallowly cut the palm of his hand as he runs it through her reddened strands.

“Mum said you could all come over after practice.”

There’s nothing else for him to say as he cups his palm at the end of his last stroke, collecting the glass that’s covered in blood and sneaking it into the pocket of his shorts.

Leon’s voice breaks the silence. First a quiet little exhale of shock, and then a stuttering reply. “We’ll stay for as long as you need.”

“Arthur. We need to move.” Elyan, crouches behind him. Hand on his shoulder. “C’mon.”

Arthur allows his friends to manoeuvre him away. Not very far mind you, just enough so that the paramedics can get in, cover her body with a white sheet – red blossoms of blood appearing like a sick parody of flowers blooming in the spring – move her into the ambulance, and drive away.

Needless to say, football practice is cancelled until further notice.

They wait all together in a small family waiting room. Arthur hunched in his chair,  Leon, Lance and Elyan shifting around silently from place to place in the room; no one willing to leave Arthur by himself.

A tap of the door comes and Morgana enters balancing a flimsy cardboard tray of teas and a handful of crisp packets. “You should eat something,” she says placing the tray on the table in front of him.

The door opens again.

“Arthur! Are you hurt?”

“Dad!” he flings himself over the table, feet almost bumping into the tea. “Mum, she…there was so much blood and…and I didn’t even know it was her until Lance said something…and by the time I got there…it was too late…and she…she…I’m so sorry!”

His dad doesn’t say anything. Just pulls him in closer.

With his head resting on his father’s chest he listens to his father’s heartbeat. There’s a stark contrast here because, his mother’s doesn’t. Not anymore...

The casket is a bright white that hurts his eyes whenever he stares at it head-on.

He stands next to his father, black suit pristine, shoes shone within an inch of their life. His friends stand next to him, Morgana directly behind him. He can feel her weight against his back, head over his shoulder, arm braced against his chest. Her hand carefully strokes his hair, but not hard enough to disturb his blonde strands from moving out of place.

The funeral was put together fast. She died, only a few days ago, and now she’s being lowered into the ground, heart as cold as stone, lips tinged blue, white dress still perfect even if her body is not.

 _Made up like a fucking porcelain doll,_ Arthur thinks bitterly.

When they leave the church he rests his head against the window of the car as life carries on. People are running in the street, vehicles skating around each other in a rush to get to their locations – not one of them stopping to look at him with sympathetic eyes as his car drives past them because he’s lost his mother. They don’t know, and in that instance he realises that the world doesn’t stop for the dead.

When gravel crunches under the tires of the car Arthur winces and wrings his hands together in his lap. He doesn’t want to enter the house. He can’t imagine home without her.

“Inside please,” his father says as he breathes in deeply trying to collect himself.

Arthur doesn’t move. He can’t.

Morgana tugs his elbow before giving up and getting out of the car.

He jumps when the door slams shut and watches Morgana walk into the house. His father hasn’t moved from behind the steering wheel.

“Arthur-“ Uther’s voice hitches. In the rear view mirror Arthur sees him scowl, eyes staring at steering wheel. It’s comforting to know that his father doesn’t want to leave any more than he does. “There are people waiting for us. We should go.”

They don’t.

Morgana comes back outside, eyes sharp and assessing until they find the car. She walks to the driver’s side door and gets Uther out and leaning against the car. The door is shut so Arthur can’t hear what she’s saying to him but whatever it is, Uther’s posture stiffens. His shoulder’s roll back and he cups Morgana’s cheek before striding into the house.

A shadow falls over Arthur’s window.

Morgana opens the door and unbuckles his seatbelt. Her hair tickles his neck. “You have fifteen minutes. You go in and make small talk. You eat and drink. Then you go up to your room, get in the shower and tell the world to fuck off. When you get out you go to bed. Do you understand me Arthur?” He finds himself leaning against the door with Morgana’s arms around his shoulders.

He doesn’t even remember getting out of the car.

Gwen comes to him as soon as he enters the door, eyes red and sympathetic.

They had a date yesterday. His eyes enlarge until they are comically wide and filled with guilt. He never went. “Shit. Gwen I completely forgot.”

Gwen encases his hand in her own and tuts softly enough that only he can hear.  “You’re being stupid. Don’t you dare apologise.”

He doesn't apologise then and he doesn't apologise again three weeks later when they break-up.

To be honest, it feels like it’s all over before it began. Everything is over. His mother died. They had a funeral in a church. They had the wake in their house. His father has had all her affairs sorted, cancelled accounts, had things transferred in name from Ygraine to Uther Pendragon.

He makes small talk.

He eats three spring rolls and a glass of juice.

He takes a shower and shouts beneath the spray, railing against the world for destroying his life.

Later he gets into his pyjamas; gets into bed with his back against the headboard, arms encircling his knees.  Light from the hallway illuminate the little strip of carpet in front of his door almost as if it’s a point that he can’t cross.

He sits and waits. Voices eventually begin to die down. Car engines start and then disappear. Two sets of footsteps walk up the stairs and then move in opposite directions.

It’s a full moon tonight. He can see it through his window. It’s casting a bluish hazy light that plays against the stacks of belongings in his room. There are piles of boxes that cast alarming shadows across his wall and it’s the first time he’s ever felt frightened of being alone in his room.

He knocks on Morgana’s door already ready to run. The door opens and Morgana rubs at her eyes. “Hey. What’s the matter?”

“Can I stay with you?” his composure breaks and he hiccups into her neck as he’s pulled into a hug.

“Course you can, sweetheart,” the term of endearment makes him cry harder. “Shh. Come on, let’s see if you can get some sleep.”

Morgana’s never felt more like his sister until now.

**...**

He’s blaming this on the fact that he’s eighteen and not thinking with his upstairs brain.

“Ok just…give me a second.”

"Arthur!"

He jumps in spite of himself, watching his father stand in the doorway of his bedroom, face red in anger and the vein in his temple visibly throbbing. "What are you-wh-father!"

Percy’s deer in headlines morphs to politeness as he makes to shake Uther’s hand but Arthur quickly presses a hand to his chest before he can move. Uther stalks towards them until he’s practically chest to chest with Arthur, ignoring Percival, as he looks into his son’s eyes. He reaches around Arthur and pushes open Arthur’s bedroom door. It’s as if he’s expecting more men to pop out of the room but instead his mouth drops open and his fist clench dangerously tight.

Ygraine’s wedding dress, wrapped in its plastic, is hung over a hat rack that Arthur really has no reason for having.

There’s a vein pulsing dangerously in his father’s forehead and for a second Arthur wonders whether it’ll pop. He raises his chin a little defiantly and waits for the inevitable explosion of anger but it never comes.

Instead what he receives is this almost silent, self-righteous, ‘you are a Pendragon and therefore you should be above this’ sort of dressing down. "What is the meaning of this? I thought I made it very clear, this room was to be spotless. You are not an animal, and I will not have you live like one. If you insist on this ridiculous behaviour then I think that it is time that you found your own space and not desecrate one that meant so much to your mother." Uther turns on his heel leaving the doorway unblocked.

“Arthur?” Percival murmurs quietly.  

“I…uh…crap. I think-“ he starts, but he can’t think. There’s this fuzz…or a disconnect; like his brain has short circuited and he keeps replaying the words over and over again in his head.

Percival looks around for his jacket thrown over the rail. “I should leave.”

He quickly clutches Percival’s shirt sleeve, twisting his fingers in a way that tightens the material around the meat of Percival’s forearm. “No, I wasn’t going to say that.”

“But you’re thinking that and it’s completely understandable.”

“It’s not…he’s doesn’t know…I…“ And his voice just stops, because he honestly thought that it would be okay. “I thought he’d be cool with it.”

Percy’s hand settles gently on the back of his neck. “But he was talking about your room.”

“Focus was on you, the room just allowed him to be polite. I’ve learned how to read between the lines.”

“From what Lance told me, your mother adored you and wanted you happy.”

“Yeah? That’s what I thought about him.”

“You should talk to him. Properly.” Arthur shakes his head squeezing his eyes shut. “So what are you going to do?”

“Move out.”

“Are you sure? Where would you go? This is completely my fault – maybe you can tell him that I was just an experiment?”

“We haven’t done anything wrong! I’ll see if Morgana’s willing to take me in.”

After Ygraine’s passing, his father had changed. It wasn’t immediate. It was one of those things that is so slow and incremental, like that old tale about wives tale of a frog boiling to death slowly because they got used to the temperature and never felt the difference.

Arthur doesn’t remember when it happened, but somewhere along the line, dad became father and Morgana’s presence became a memory.

“You could stay with me. I have a spare room at the moment and I’ll need a roommate for campus accommodation?”

“I couldn’t-“

“It’s just an idea…you should tell your sister what happened.”

“I can’t…she doesn’t know about any of this.”

“You mean of us, or about your collecting issues?”

He had never meant to tell Percival. It just sort of happened one night when he went to a party, drunk too much and got way too maudlin. Percival had been there, shy, sticking close to the wall. He was safe. And then it all came tumbling out.

“Collecting issues – I’m not ashamed of you. She’s been dying to meet you but I’ve been trying to fend her off.”

“Why?”

“Because she’ll fucking try and steal you away.”

“Try but fail.”

He finds himself blushing under Percy’s stare. “You really mean that.”

“I do.”

**...**

Blue eyes.

Red hair.

Bewitching smile.

They are the first three things he notices about a girl walking through the quad. She isn’t alone. People seem to just up and follow her like she’s the Pied Piper and he would too, because she is gorgeous and-

“Ow!”

Gwen just hit him with a book.

“Stop drooling. It’s unbecoming of someone like you.”

“Hussy,” Arthur returns playfully plucking to book out of her hands. “And what do you mean ‘someone like me’?”

Looking at him straight in the eye she says, “Someone much better than her.”

Winter is upon them; cold and unrelenting. They’re sitting just in front of the fountain watching people go by. He leans back a little letting out an exhale of breath that mists in the air. “I should get back on the horse or whatever, you know, after Percy.”

His heart does a little flop thinking about the young giant.

Wonderful, sweet - _I really wish we had worked out –_ Percy.

_“Arthur?” Percival puts the box on the table before him._

_Arthur sighs pushing his plate away and looking in his boyfriend…ex-boyfriend’s direction. “I know…me too.”_

_“I really thought we’d work.”_

_He sounds so small, shoulders hunched in under his large sweatshirt like he’s trying to hide in it. It’s a bit like a tortoise pulling into his shell and Arthur can’t stand for that. He gets up and stands alongside him gently taking his elbow. “Hey. Think of it as a good thing. We won’t resent each other…you’ll have space to move-“_

_There’s a little shadow that passes over Percival’s face that is lined with guilt. “I know I complained, but I don’t mind…I knew what you were like-“_

_“Mate, just stop okay?” Arthur says letting go with a frown. “We did the best we could. We don’t regret each other…” Percival quickly grabs his hand and shakes his head emphatically. “It’s okay that we ended. Percy, you don’t have to give me this place…I should be the one to move out.”_

_At this Percy shrugs. “You need the stability.”_

_“Way to make me sound like a mental case,” Arthur mutters with a half-smile that’s a bit brittle around the edges._

_Percival puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder and kisses his temple. “Don’t go twisting my words now. I’m just saying with your father and Morgana on the outs, and me leaving. It’s a lot of change…I don’t want you to suddenly acquire five hundred Christmas trees or something.”_

_Smiling a little wryly because he’s genuinely upset about them ending, Arthur pulls him into a quick hug and confirms that they’ll see each other next week for drinks. And through it all he can’t help but think:  As if I’d buy five hundred Christmas trees._

Gwen stares at her phone for a moment and sighs fondly. “You didn’t fall off a horse. You both fizzled out and realised you’re better off as friends. And Percy was an angel…why do you now want to go out with Satan?”

He lets out a low whistle. “Wow Gwen, tell me how you really feel.” She looks down at her lap, face in that forever guilty expression that she wore as a child when she spoke perhaps a little too honestly.

He can feel his gaze soften because Gwen is just so bloody lovely. And he knows that the Gwen & Arthur ship has long since sailed away so there isn’t anything to worry about there – that he won’t accidently hurt Gwen because he can think of nothing worse than making her unhappy. “Come on Gwen, I’m taking you out for lunch."

She quickly gathers her belongings. “But you have class! Arthur, you can’t skip!” her voice is rising, he steps away from her grinning as he turns around facing her, still walking backwards. “Arthur watch-“

His back collides with a bony chest and he pivots on his toe. “Watch where you’re going!”

The man is only a little taller than him. Thin, but dressed in layers and layers of clothing which surprises Arthur. He honestly thought that he had smacked into a brick wall. The man’s voice is muffled behind his scarf.

There is a definite eye roll. “You prat, of course it’s my fault,” the dark haired man returns pushing past him with a curse. “Fuck, ‘m late.”

“Arthur,” he winces turning around to see Gwen’s disapproving face. “You know that was your fault.”

 _Damn._ “He should’ve watched where he was going.”

Hooking an arm through the crook of his elbow she walks them out of the quad. “So lunch? I’ll pay, if anything for the emotional damage that you’ve endured.”

Arthur agrees easily but of course he’ll pay for lunch because Gwen is nine kinds of awesome.

Sophia doesn’t really enter his mind again until a couple of weeks later when he drops onto his knees and helps her gather the stack of books that have fallen to the ground.

“Here you are.”

Sophia looks at him with her piercing blue eyes. “Thank you.”

Arthur lifts his shoulder a tiny bit so that the strap of his backpack sits comfortably on his shoulder. “Not a problem.”

“Let’s go to a movie – Friday night at eight.” Sophia isn’t asking him a question.  

Mentally Arthur scans through the dates of his assignments; juggling times for work and deadlines trying valiantly to make some space in his schedule and answer Sophia before she decides to walk off, which if he doesn’t hurry will happen in two seconds…

“Yes!” he blurts out.  _Smooth, very smooth_ , Arthur chides himself for appearing too eager. “I mean, Friday at eight’s fine. I’ll pick you up.”Sophia nods and uncaps a blue pen writing her address and phone number on a scrap of paper.

It doesn’t take long for him to come under her spell and notice nothing else.

Gwen becomes polite…distant. They don’t fight, she just sort of fades into the background – into his peripheral.

She tells him that he’s blind.

He tells her that she’s jealous.

He doesn’t need Gwen, not when he has Sophia…

They're leaving the library together. Sophia's hand tucked into his. It's just after dark, the night a little warm, with the wind just on the side of cool. They've been two months. It's been pretty okay - on the whole she's a bit, childish. And her dad keeps sending him weird looks when he drops her off after their dates. But it's...nice, let's stick with nice. Sophia plants another kiss against his cheek and lowers her eyelashes demurely. "So I was thinking, maybe I could come back to yours…" she lets the implications of that offer sink in through the breathy off-trail of her voice.

Arthur catches himself, cutting off the nod before he's fully committed to it, and pushes her away gently.

He has to break up with her. Like right bloody now.

She pushes herself into him a little more.

Maybe he'll delay the break up until tomorrow. So sue him, he's a man. "Not mine, yours," he says, kissing her. 

She giggles. "No, yours. I've never seen your place before."

There's a good reason for that. "My place," he scoffs, trying not to let panic settle in his veins, "I-it's just a place Soph."

She pouts at him. "Arthur. C'mon, you know you want me there…" she proceeds to whisper dirty little visuals into his ear, about how she'd be naked on his lounge...or his bed...or anywhere else he'd have her, except all he can really think about is his lounge, and his bed, and anywhere else in his flat, and Sophia's piercing scream as she runs out the door after having not even made it past his coffee table.

With a firm grip, he untangles her from around his neck and takes a step back. "I really don't think it's a good idea - you coming back to mine."

The light dims in her eyes a little and she pats him gently on the chest. "Never mind then, I'm a bit tired today," she fake yawns. "Would you mind dropping me off?"

"Of course not."

The following week is filled with a passive aggressive Sophia. They're fine at university; presenting a united front to the students who idolise them.  She steals his food, he picks her up in a fireman’s carry and runs around the university grounds. They write their papers together in the library. Their friends are the buffer between good them and bad them.

It's when their alone that the issues are noticeable, she jabs at him. Whispers that he's keeping a secret, insinuates that he's cheating on her. He has half a mind to tell her that his flat outfitted like a BDSM club and on Fridays he conducts blood sacrifices to appease the university gods. Obviously he doesn't actually say any of that. Instead, he tells her that he's not cheating, nor is he secret keeping and to leave it alone.

She leaves it alone.

Another week later, she leaves him alone too.

**...**

Vivian catches his eye at a charity function that's hosted by Pendragon Ltd. 

Uther is very pleased _. (Arthur, if you pull this off, we’ll be able to buy her company…)_

Morgana is not. _(Arthur can’t you see, they are both using you...)_

Morgana wants to throw up at the dollar signs that light up inside Vivian's eyes, and punch him for making those lights appear in the first place.

If Morgana wasn’t his sister, he’d claim jealousy, but then again, Morgana _is_ his sister so he shudders at the thought, brain helpfully supplying an accompanying ‘eww’ in disgust.

There are only three dates (with intermittent periods of just sex) before he realises the mistake he's made.

The first date is simple…or at least it was meant to be. He takes her out to a movie in which she falls asleep fifteen minutes into it. There’s drool seeping through the material of his shirt just above his elbow where her head lays against him. As for the movie itself…frankly it is a piece of shit. As he casts his eyes to the seats around him he finds that they are all empty bar the lone figure sitting in the first row. When the movie finishes Vivian perks up as if she hadn’t spent the last hour and a half wetting him with a seven pints of saliva. He figures dinner will be the saving grace except she insists on ordering for him. And that’s completely fine in theory but in practice it results in a closed airway and a trip to the emergency room. _“I didn’t know satay sauce had peanuts in it! Why didn’t you tell me you were allergic?”_

The second date is stepped up, obviously. Dinner at a fancier (note that he’s stepped it up from just plain old fancy) and the ballet which Vivian had cooed about after seeing a billboard on the side of a freeway. This one actually ends up pretty good. Though bored out his mind, Vivian is enthralled with her eyes wide and mouth open. Dinner is a bit hit and miss. She allows him to order his own meal but when she hears that there may be traces of nuts – which really, it can’t be helped and he knows that he won’t react – she goes ballistic. And it’s not a tiny going off at the waiter. She starts yelling for the manager and then threatening to shut the restaurant down and then Arthur finds himself in shouting match with the waiter which…he doesn’t even know how that happened because he’s on the waiter’s side.

Okay so dinner was a complete miss…in that never actually got to eat anything.

The third date is what proves to him that it’ll never work. Asking her to Gwen’s art exhibition is possibly the biggest mistake he’s made. Ever.   

“I don’t get it.” Vivian says tilting her head to the side.

The colours are vibrant. Geometric patterns crisscrossing in lines like a kaleidoscope. If he stares at it long enough he swears he can see Morgana in there, like Gwen’s captured her essence and put it onto canvas. “You…aren’t really meant to get it.”

“Then what’s the point?” She sniffs and takes a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “This art is terrible.”

“Hi Arthur…Vivian.”

“Gwen!” Oh good lord he’s going to be in so much trouble.

“So what do you think?”

“Well it’s certainly no Monet…or Picasso…actually it’s pretty terrible. Don’t you agree Arthur?” she finishes turning to him for confirmation.

Arthur feels his heart die slowly as the light and excitement in Gwen’s eyes almost completely disappears.

“Who are you anyway?”

“Vivian this is Gwen, she’s the artist,” he explains slowly as if Vivian is a child. He knows that she’s not, but if dumbing her down in his mind stops him from yelling obscenities in public then so be it. “This is her exhibition.”

Vivian blankly casts her eyes over another painting and shrugs. “Oh…well, as long as it’s not your day job then.”

Yup, time to call it a night. Taking her elbow he takes a step closer to the door. “You know what? I think it’s time we left. I’ll drop you back home. Just wait by the car and I’ll be out in a second.”

Surprise at his abruptness colours her face before it disappears into embarrassment and anger for what she clearly feels is her being manhandled. “Okay my love,” she says, elbow snatched away harshly and the term directed clearly for Gwen’s benefit. It makes Arthur cringe.

When the coast is clear he turns to Gwen who stares back at him with a lip caught between her teeth and her arms crossed around her body. “Gwen, don’t listen to anything she says okay.”

She shrugs. “Well, I guess I should get used to this. It’s not too bad though?”

“No…I think it’s rather brilliant. And you know that I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

“That’s a rather substantial lie. I’ve seen you draw.”

He waves her comment off. “Beside the point. What matters is that you are a brilliant artist and I am so sorry that I brought that tart to you exhibition.”

“Arthur, your tart is waiting for you outside. Please, at least break up with her before you start calling her names.”

“Why, it’s not like you did, ‘Barbie-doll wannabe’? Morgana rather loved that one, imagine my surprise when I found out that it wasn’t that harpy’s imaginative moniker, but yours?”

Gwen’s cheeks turn pink. “That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

Wrapping an arm around shoulders, Arthur pulls her in for a hug and kisses the top of her head. “Don’t be, you are absolutely correct.” He’s pleased to note that the light is back in her eyes. “The work is fantastic – you’re going to go international…no doubt about it.”

He breaks up with Vivian on a Tuesday and drinks himself into oblivion. He's not upset. He just wants to get drunk.

One Wednesday he's woken up by a knock to his door. He stumbles to the door and opens it a little. Vivian looks at him furiously. "A text message!" she screeches. He shrugs from behind the door, because he feels like he’s still three sheets to the wind and...yeah, text message is a less then fine way to dump someone - he'll own that. "Arthur, you are going to take me back."

"I don't think I am." When he tries to close the door he can't, because there’s a designer boot sticking through the doorjamb.

"You bloody well better," she replies pushing the door all the way open.

Damn it. Arthur blinks blearily mind managing to find it amazing that Vivian has that much strength. Then again, he's about thirty seconds from passing out again, so it kind of appears like there was no contest.

"Oh my god!" she yells. He finally gets a good look at her. Hand over mouth. Pale. Eyes impossibly wide. "You-but, Arthur!"

"Get out." 

"This isn't normal! You need help! I think I'm going to be sick...I need to...I have to…" She turns on her heel. Her handbag is clutched to her chest as if the germs in Arthur's flat will snatch it away. “Your flat’s a tip!”

Arthur makes to follow, standing in the doorway and watching as Vivian smacks into a dark haired man. She's shaken out of her revelry, and turns back to Arthur, her eyes filled with unmistakable sorrow as if she's just discovered that her prince is an ogre (and so what if he's been watching a lot of Shrek since the breakup?). The sorrow is hidden beneath the immediate disgust that she uses to declare that he's a shameful slob who had used her (if anything she used him) to get into the high society pages.

She sniffs once and walks away in dainty little steps.

The man just stares at her wide-eyed before swinging his gaze towards Arthur. He's dressed in biking gear, helmet snug on his head, parcel held tight in his fingers.

_Not too bad...if you’d be so kind as to turn around so I could evaluate your arse…_

And no, he’s not about to go and proposition the guy but he is still drunk…

Well hungover.

Sixty percent drunk and forty percent hungover?

And a tad horny except maybe it’s just a smidgen. More like a pinch _(Why haven’t you turned around yet? Assuming it’s nice, I’d like to pinch it)…_

A little ogling never hurt anyone!

The man coughs bringing Arthur out of his musings and smiles.

Amused? Terrified? Arthur can’t figure it out but the courier says, “Uh…you have a lion or something in there?”

Right, because running/screaming Vivian plus questionable unseeable thing in the flat equals concern.

Suddenly awkward, Arthur turns his gaze to the ground. “Or something.” Feelings slightly bruised, he shakes his head and mutters out loud. "Shouldn't you be working?" The courier winces, mouth ready to babble apologies. Arthur shuts the door in his face already planning to sleep off his hangover after watching Shrek one last time.

**…**

> _Arthur Pendragon here…actually, I’m not, so if it’s important leave me a message._
> 
> _-Beep-_
> 
> _Little brother? It’s Morgana, you’re nearest and dearest, not to mention, one and only sister. Where the hell have you been? Never mind. I demand to see you, so either I come over to yours and you know I will, or you can meet me at eleven at Lazy Pastries._

Lazy Pastries is a homey little café exactly halfway between his place and Morgana’s. They know this because when they got spectacularly drunk one night they counted their steps.

He brushes his teeth and quickly roots around his floordrobe, trying to find a shirt that suggests that he does do the laundry.

Finally reaching the café he steps inside and see’s Morgana laughing next to a man who isn’t Leon. _Holy shit, she can laugh with other people._ He knew that Leon could pull out a laugh. And he knows that he can too, though it’s more a fact of her laughing _at_ him than with him. _I must meet this oddity._

He’d like to think that her eyes light up when she spots him, but it could just be the lighting. Either way she’s got her _Torment Arthur_ smirk on. "Arthur, this is Merlin…." Whatever else Morgana says gets lost, swept away by the rush of blood through his ears as he stares at the gangly man in front of him.

"You alright mate?" Merlin asks.

Arthur’s brain spasms before offering - _Assumed cute arse courier guy! –_ on a continuing loop around the inside of his head.  

Morgana stops talking, fingers curling into his arm. "What's the matter? You've gone all red?” Has he really? Merlin’s staring back at him smiling as Morgana takes his cheek between two fingers tugging slightly.

"Oh wait! You're the slob." Merlin's eyes are twinkling with amusement. Easy going. Meaning no harm. Arthur feels like he's being slighted.

"Slob?" Morgana laughs. "Arthur's the most uptight, little perfectionist out there."

Something must've shown on his face because Merlin tilts his head to the side scrutinising him for a moment. It is quite possible that his everything in his life hangs on this moment, and yes, one could argue that he's being a bit dramatic though it's _his_ quality of life that may be affected so he figures that he has a right to panic. 

"Oh…" Merlin begins awkwardly. "Sorry, my mistake then." There are questions in his eyes, and his tone is weird enough that Morgana looks in his direction. As soon as his head turns, Arthur shakes his head, as small a movement as he dares to get away with someone as perceptive as her around. Merlin's face softens. "I just assumed...I mean, I’ve seen the way you eat your lunch and I've seen dogs with more manners than you," he finishes with a grin.

 _Brilliant, a joke,_ Arthur thinks, _I can work with a joke._ It takes him a moment to realise that he's just been insulted. He can feel his cheeks beginning to warm considerably. Morgana's openly laughing - the witch isn't even trying to be discrete, and he can tell because she's half bent over, hand pointing at him which to be honest, is frankly terrifying. "Oi!" he says. "I have manners! Bloody great manners, thank you very much. I know how to use my cutlery and...and...I’ve even pulled out that," he makes sure to point to Morgana, "harpy's chair, if you had bothered to see that, but you didn't, did you!"

"Arthur, calm down." Morgana says, petting his arm. "Merlin only called it as he saw it."

“Plus I have met you before – the prior knowledge helps a bit.”

They’ve met before? Arthur racks his brains for this meeting. Surely he would remember meeting a _Merlin_. “What prior knowledge?”

Morgana huffs from beside him. “Stop looking at him like that.”

“Like what?"

“Like you’re suspicious of him,” she leans in closer to his ear cupping her hand in front of her mouth only to finish off with, “or like you’re five seconds away from having him over the table.”

He glares at her. "Shut up." To Merlin he demands an answer to his question. Yes he gets that he sounds like a pompous arse but if he’s being investigated he wants to know why…and now he knows he’s being paranoid because Merlin is a bike courier so why would he be investigating anything? Unless he’s undercover…

Arthur stares taking in Merlin’s gangly limbs and can’t help but snort. _Merlin, undercover? Yeah right._

“…that’s a first. We went to school together among other things.”

Talking. Right.

“What’s a first…we went to school together?”

Merlin smiles at him as if he’s indulging a small child. Dammit. _Arthur, get it together._

“My name is Merlin…if they don’t remember me by face, they always remember me by name. And about the school…” he trails off, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. “You saved me from getting the crap kicked out of me…Valiant?”

Oh…Oh! “Lance’s friend.” Merlin nods. “Valiant was a tool.”

Merlin shrugs taking a sip of his drink. “Still is apparently.”

“Oh yeah?”

“My ex-girlfriend works as a lawyer and apparently Valiant’s in jail for theft and assault.”

 _Ex-girlfriend…fuck of course._ Though his mood is slightly dampened, Arthur still manages to mentally pats himself on the back for ending his association with Valiant (the fact that he had it at all is still a mystery to him). “Nice to know that some things never change.”

Hours later, when he’s tucked up in bed (more, the little patch of floor next to his bed), sketch book rested upon his knees he outlines a scene. There’s light coming from his point of view onto a figure sitting up against a pale yellow rendered wall. A shadow is standing. The figure, with bent knees, head turned limply away, looking small and drawn in. 

He can see the image in his mind but then he begins to see further than that. He starts seeing the colours he wants to use to emphasise pale skin, and dark smudged eyes. Textures of soft worn cotton and tough leather boots. Bright blue eyes a slightly red nose. 

An hour later he stops holding the sketchbook away from him. At first he’s content, the image looks good…solid, but as he pulls it back, his hand widening his scope, he gasps. The book falls from his fingers and hesitantly peers over his knees only to see Merlin’s face forlornly staring back at him.

**...**

“Hey you can’t go in there!" 

The ruckus outside gives Arthur an excuse to stop torturing his eyes as he closes the lid of his laptop and stands up. Walking to the door, he reaches it just as it’s flung open and a mop of dark messy hair barrels into his chest.

There’s a squawk of protest as the mop is removed, Cedric tightly gripping the upper arm and wrist of the man and trying to drag him away with _“I’m sorry Mr Pendragon…I’ll call security right away…”_

Merlin lets out another shout and quickly takes Arthur’s hand tugging hard as Cedric strains again in the opposite direction. “Ow! You wanker let go!” he says indignantly. With a quick look up, his narrows his eyes catching Arthur’s expression. “You’re enjoying this!”

“I am.” Arthur adjusts his grip on Merlin’s hand bringing his other arm around to lock around Merlin’s shoulders. “Cedric! You can let him go.”

Cedric, red faced and beginning to sweat around the temples doesn’t hear him. “I’m sorry Mr Pendragon, just a moment; I have to dispose of this cretin.”

“Cedric!”

Cedric stops turning around in question dropping Merlin’s hand as his eyes zoom in on their own. Arthur tried not to roll his eyes and doesn’t bother correcting the insinuation. Instead he relishes the look of sheer panic and paleness that accompanies one when all their blood drains from their face.

“I…my apologies.” Cedric actually bows. Arthur drops Merlin’s hand.  

“Merlin my assistant Cedric, Cedric, my torturer Merlin.”

“I resent that,” Merlin gripes whilst rubbing his arm. The long sleeved shirt doesn’t hide the beginning of bruises that match Cedric’s hand and Arthur finds himself struggling to contain the thoughts of strangling Cedric to death in his office.

“Cedric? Back to work thank you. What are you doing here Merlin?” Taking Merlin’s wrist he quickly inspects it before shifting Merlin’s shirt sleeve up to see reddening skin.

“Arthur, stop growling you caveman,” Merlin says smiling. Arthur looks up blinking, a hand still on Merlin’s arm. Was he really growling? “He’s just doing his job.”

“His job is to man the desk and keep people out of my office,” he finally says stepping away and over to his desk. He hears Merlin stumble behind him winding through boxes that permanently reside on the carpet before flopping into a seat.

Merlin’s eyes casually inspect the room. “See, he was doing his job. Where do you have meetings?”

“Clearly not here.” He’s a professional, messy office aside. “Cedric’s meant to keep people out of my office…you’re not people.”

“No, I’m Merlin.”

“Exactly.” 

**...**

He needs a new pair of socks.

Wiggle.

The hole in his sock allows his big to the poke out.

He hates shopping.

Dropping his head between his knees he breathes in deep. In.

Out.

In. 

He hates shopping.

As a child he’d used to go through stores with his eyes closed. His mother thought it was sweet that he’d take everything in with big blue eyes, hands always roaming to touch. When she realised what was going on she promised him short trips and never commented on leading him around by the hand. As he got older and started getting money though the urge to touch morphed into an urge to buy.

When you’re thirteen, you can’t walk into a store with your eyes shut.

There are sales on. Morgana’s told him.

_Breathe Arthur._

He’ll go out and buy shit he doesn’t need. He’ll buy a pair of socks no doubt about it, but he’ll also buy pants, plastic containers, shoes, garden rakes…

He’ll come back to the flat laden with things he doesn’t need, drowning in a sea of plastic bags and paper and so much useless shit that he can’t seem to live without.

He’ll drop them all into a pile and never touch them again.

_Breathe Arthur…just…fuck, breathe damn it!_

**...**  

“Mr Pendragon, Merlin’s here.” 

“Send him up.”

“Can’t do that.” Alicia sounds like she’s smiling.

“Why not?”

“Because-“

“I’m already here,” Merlin cheers finishing her sentence. The door shuts behind him with a snick.

“You’re on break?”

“Until two and then I have some errands for my mum. I won’t be here tomorrow, I’ve got a class.”

“I know.”

“You’ll still have to eat…just because I’m not here to personally deliver your lunch doesn’t mean you can be lazy.” He casts a dark look at the vending machine placed in the corner of Arthur’s office. He frowns, eyebrow rising to his hairline and quickly glances around. “And is it just my imagination or is this place getting worse?”

Making grabby hands at the lunch in Merlin’s hand Arthur resettles himself opening the container and breathing in the wonder that is fish and chips. “Busy times at the office, no time to clean,” he says through a mouthful of chips.

 **...**  

Mithian happens.

They meet just after Arthur turns twenty-six at a children's football match. Arthur’s coaching the littlies who are still struggling with which way to kick. At the same time, Merlin sits near the bench cheering loudly for anyone and everyone because _“everyone deserves to be cheered…GO ARTHUR!”_ whilst going through his teaching syllabus for the first years.

Morgana follows him to the counter tapping her credit card on the marble countertop. “She looks a bit like him.”

The smug look on her face leaves him with no allusions to who they’re talking about.

“No she doesn’t,” he replies automatically counting his change and switching sides with Morgana as she orders.

She says it as if it’s meant to be a great revelation. Or that he’s colour-blind. Just because men are more likely to be colour-blind doesn’t actually mean that he is. Hell, brown is also the wrong colour to be colour-blind about. “She has dark hair.”

 _Maybe Morgana’s colour-blind?_ Arthur thinks as he points out the obvious, “In case you haven’t noticed, so do you.”

He offers to take her plate, because he is an awesomely polite brother. She declines which is quite okay because he’s already carrying Mithian’s lunch and his own. He doesn’t know whether he has the energy to conduct feats of juggling today when he’s already nervous enough bringing Mithian into the fold.

“Besides the point,” she says airily. “Let’s talk about Merlin.”

“Lovely guy, stupid ears, abominable fashion sense. There we go. Talked about him. Now, please be civilised to my girlfriend.”

“Aren’t I always?”

His mind strays to memories of Vivian screeching at something Morgana had done or said and all he can do is plead once more as he follows her back to their table.

After they’re seated Morgana puts her head on the palm of her hand. Arthur’s eyes narrow at her. He’d hazard a kick under the table except he doesn’t accidently want to kick his girlfriend.  “So Mithian. Tell me, how long have you known Arthur?”

Mithian, bless her soul, smiles at Morgana sweetly and answers. “Couple of weeks I guess…he’s told me a lot about you. Good and bad.”

 _Oh shit_.

He must’ve done something. Made a noise. A movement, that directs Morgana’s attention to him and she sighs patting his head like a child. “Honest, I like it.” And with that declaration, it appears to end the small talk.

They’re about halfway through lunch when Morgana suddenly stands to her feet. “Merlin!”

“Hey, what’s…?” Merlin looks tired and there are specks of paint on his hands. “Arthur, I didn’t know that you’d be here.” His voice is tight, smile strained around the edges and he sends a look to Morgana that would have greater men fainting yet she simply ignores.

“I’m having lunch.” Morgana and Merlin are still trading weird stares and he’s still staring at Merlin, worried about just how tired the poor guy looks when there’s a small prod to his arm. Mithian looks at him in askance. “Oh, Merlin, uh, meet Mithian. Mithian this is Merlin. Mate, you look like death warmed over.”

“Hello,” Mithian says.

Something in Merlin’s face turns worried. “Hi. Arthur, don’t worry about me. Morgana, I should probably leave.”

He’s already ready to go but Morgana quickly steers him further into the café. “No. Merlin come, we’ll order you something fantastic.”

“Morgana I really don’t think…” Merlin’s splutter of protest dies down as they move to the counter.

Curious, Arthur watches their exchange. Merlin looks annoyed, waving his mobile phone in Morgana’s face. Morgana seems displeased and she keeps pointing to their table. Merlin lets out a bark of laughter and wipes a hand over his face, the same hand then flings again to their table.

“…Arthur!”

Startled, he turns to Mithian still munching on her kale salad. “Hmm?”

“I said, that he seems, nice…a little odd, but nice. And Morgana seems lovely too.”

Studiously picking at his food, he ignores the comment on Merlin and focusses on the one about Morgana because it’s easier? “Morgana, lovely…try growing up with her.” Arthur says it with jest of course.  Morgana has become a sort of safe haven, weathered by testing seas but a solid bit of rock nonetheless. _God help me, when did I become such a sap for her._ “Though I guess she’s not too bad.”

Mithian gets this fond look on her face like he’s produced a puppy from behind his back and they resume eating in silence.

Slow measured steps have some unknowing power over him, causing Arthur to lift his gaze and rake up Merlin’s closed jacketed body, past the horrendous scarf that closets the front of his neck, past the day old stubble and finally to dark eyes that seem lost and sleep deprived, foggy in a feverish glaze.

Morgana’s heels clack around to her seat and she sits with a flourishing hand gesturing to the seat next to him. There’s a pause before the white gleaming plate settles  in the corner of his vision, the chair screeching as it’s dragged across the solid oak floor and Merlin stiffly stepping into a place where he clearly had no intention of being.

Arthur offers Merlin a smile because he knows what it’s like. He’s well versed in Morgana pulling this sort of manipulative bullshit.

“That,” he says pointing to Merlin’s deconstructed sandwich, “is going to blow your mind.” Belatedly he adds, “Now you know what you’re missing out on when you eat your peasant food.”

He ignores the knowing look in Morgana’s eyes as Merlin’s sour face morphs into one of his more playful expressions, a quirk of his eyebrow and his fingers hovering over the plate before settling on a soggy sliver of caramelised onion. Merlin picks it up, the onion aimlessly wiggling like a worm as he tilts his head back and drops it in his open mouth.

Morgana and Mithian trade looks and Merlin goes to do it again. Before Arthur can really think about it, he grabs Merlin’s hand; thumb brushing over the blue paint covering a knuckle and puts a fork into his grasp.

“Can’t take you anywhere can I?” he says with exasperation though the smile threatening to break through suggests otherwise.

**...**

“Merlin I can’t go out.” _Fuck…where the hell are those numbers?_ “Alicia! Any luck? We’re all fucked without them! 

Alicia hovers around the doorway with panic running across her face. “We’ve checked. Arthur are you sure it’s not in here?” He sighs, pushing a hand through his hair and stares at the clutter that inhabits his office. _No, I’m not._

_“Why the hell not?”_

“It isn’t. Check again, please.” To Merlin he growls down the line, “Because some idiot misplaced all my files.”

Merlin doesn’t sound very impressed with him as he sarcastically bites back, _“Don’t say it as if I’m that idiot.”_

There’s no time for this…“You are that idiot though!”

 _“No, Cedric is that idiot. You left those files in my fridge – you’re lucky that I brought them to the office in the first place and gave it to that snivelling people pleaser.”_ Yeah the fridge… three nights of no sleep will do that to a person. He was thankful that Merlin let him crash at his place for so long…he couldn’t think back at the flat, but now…

Alicia comes back in with Cedric in tow. “Cedric are you sure that you don’t have them?” Cedric shakes his head. “Merlin’s sure that he gave them to you.”

“I can assure you that if he did, then we would not be in this situation.” Cedric doesn’t have any reason to lie…neither does Merlin. But Merlin doesn’t work here and right now, he really needs those stupid pieces of paper. “Cedric says that he doesn’t have them!”

_“Well then he’s a liar to boot.”_

“Merlin, for all things holy…you know what, screw you.”

 _“Right back at you Pratdragon_.”

He’ll make it up to Merlin later.

 **...**  

He doesn’t mean to be listening in…actually he does because it’s his company and all and Cedric is sounding angry. “What are you doing here? 

“I wanted to know how it went.” Merlin’s voice comes out smug. He has no reason to be here. He doesn’t have to teach but it’s in the middle of the day. They haven’t seen each other in weeks; Arthur hasn’t picked up the phone for longer. Arthur’s brow furrows and he’s almost opening the door when he hears someone else’s voice enter the conversation.

“It went fine no thanks to you.”                                                                

Sigan. There are furious half-whispers exchanged, Cedric telling Merlin that Arthur was getting what he deserved. _‘Can’t you see? He doesn’t really care about what you have to say? Did he believe you? No he didn’t and you were telling him the truth!’_

And crap, he’s a shit friend. He doesn’t move and glares as an employee turns into the corridor – thankfully the employee gets the hint and pivots quickly.

No doubt he’ll be the source of office gossip for the next few hours.

Merlin audibly sighs. “Arthur’s stubborn at the best of times. I’m used to it. Arthur will find out about what you’ve tried to do.”

Sigan laughs. “You can’t prove anything.”

Suddenly Cedric squeaks and Merlin’s voice comes out low and menacing. “I can pull things out of thin air. Listen to me, because I’m only telling you this once. You leave this company alone.” Cedric squeaks again. Arthur presses his ear to the door as firm as he can manage without dislodging it further. “And you, you are going to resign…sooner rather than later and then hightail out of the city.”

“Y-you-“Cedric splutters.

“Boy, Arthur was all set to lose everything. Don’t think I won’t try again.”

“Sigan, you’ve tried once before. I stopped you then and I’ll stop you now. Arthur is off limits.”

Jesus Christ how many times has this guy tried to take his company away from him?

With soft treaded steps he quickly walks back to his office trying to make sense of everything that he’s just heard. Cedric was working for Sigan, a longstanding rival to their business. Merlin had apparently, successfully stopped Arthur from losing everything many times over and here he was oblivious to the inner workings of what occurred right before his eyes…

**...**

He shifts to the side letting the other man look at the window display. 

He has no idea about what he’s looking for. He already spots something that Morgana might want if Leon plucks up the courage to ask her – onyx set in a silver band. Eyes straying further to the right there’s a small golden ring with an emerald for Gwen if Lance decided to do the same.

The man must be just as lost as he is. He’s about to make a joke about women and jewellery – a comment filled with wry futility at their mission, but the man beats him.  “You’re looking at rings.”

 _Merlin_.

He straightens up and looks at Merlin with his scarf wrapped around his mouth and beanie pulled over his ears. They haven’t talked since he overheard Merlin in the staff room. He had tried to pick up the phone, god help him he tried but every time he remembered Merlin’s threats. So self-assured and strong…powerful, it had him pocketing his phone each and every time.

“She’s it.”

If Merlin is surprised at this turn of events he doesn’t show it. “You don’t even live together.”

Morgana keeps him informed, clearly. Bloody woman.

“She knows that I need my space.”

“You’ve only known her for a few months.”

“So? I know her – she accepts me as I am.”

“I accept you as you are and I don’t see you buying me a ring.”

 _Would you really want one from me?_ he muses but then he sees Merlin’s closed of expression – he’s still angry and the thought disappears.

“Shut up Merlin. I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“And I would be if I didn’t think you were currently certifiably insane.”

“Well then,” he takes a step back darting around Merlin to the door. Part of him is screaming, _apologise, say you’re sorry you stupid arrogant prideful dick!_ but that part of him is obstinately kept silent. He walks into the shop ignoring Merlin’s wide eyes and struggles to breathe as he watches through the window; Merlin disappearing into the thrum.

**...**

A crisp white envelope on his desk details Cedric’s resignation.

> Dear Mr A. Pendragon,

_Fuck you._

> It is with great sadness that I hereby resign from Pendragon Ltd.

_Yeah I bet it is. I totally should’ve fired you first._

> I am grateful that you gave me the opportunity to assist you in the day to day running of the company.

_Running it from out under me…you damn well better be grateful!_

> I also apologise for the abruptness of this resignation but this is the consequence of unfortunate circumstances.

_Wanker, wanker you fucking…what the hell rhymes with wanker? Tanker?_

> Kind regards,

_I don’t accept you’re resignation because I fire you first! Haha! See how you like that Cedric…you are fired!_

> Cedric L. Wilcox

_Fuck you._

Mind made up he goes to Merlin’s workplace cringing as a hundred grubby kids run his way.

“Are you rich?”

“Are you the new maths teacher?”

“Can we play tag?” The girl slaps a hand against the back of his knee. “You’re it!”

“Are you here to see Miss Chloe?”

“Does anyone know where I can find Mr Emrys?”

The eighty hands or so shoot up.

“Uh, you…” he says pointing to a small child who seems to be minding his own business, slightly away from the rest of the group, “mind telling me?”

The little boy takes his hand and leads him into the building, kids following the still.

“Are you going to fix Mr Emrys?”

Arthur stops. “What’s wrong with Mr Emrys?”

“He’s sad,” the kid says tugging his hand again to get him moving.

“Mr Emrys?”

“Yes Ewan how can I help you?”

The smile on Merlin’s face falls for just a second before he catches himself and grins.

“He asked to see you.”

“Well…thank you.” Merlin coughs. “You can go back outside now and finish your playtime.”

There’s an awkward few moments of them just staring at each other before Merlin turns his head to look at the wall mounted standard issue school clock above his whiteboard. “It’s too early for you to have finished.”

“I had something more pressing to take care of.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out Cedric’s letter. “Merlin, you wouldn’t have anything to do with this would you?”

“What?”

Arthur tosses the letter of resignation over.

“Nope.” Merlin looks innocently at him before placing more scissors into a plastic container.

Well that’s promising, not being asked to leave immediately. He folds himself into one of the student’s chairs, knees coming up to his chest, elbows up on the desk around them. If he’s waiting for a reaction, he doesn’t get one.

Merlin begins counting out sheets of paper and dropping them onto the desks.

It’s nice, seeing Merlin at work. When he’s got days off he dresses like a uni student. He wears baggy jeans, and large t-shirts. He’s abnormally fond of knit cardigans, and not brushing his hair. Merlin exudes wisdom and has this gravitas that leaves Arthur speechless when he sees Merlin trip over cracks on the footpath, and bang elbows with people in the crowds.

Merlin outside of work is gangly, youthful, and childish but here... Here children respond to him like he’s the Pied Piper. Arthur’s seen it. Just a clap of hands or one word in a raised voice has them all quiet. If Merlin asks them to follow him they do, in two straight lines, each pair holding hands without it even being mentioned.

Merlin pauses and drops a few sheets of paper before Arthur and instinctively he takes them and neatens them into a little pile. Just underneath the pile he catches the image of a crudely drawn shape. His fingers smudge the red-inked desk vandalisation – a poor imitation of a car, at least that’s what it looks like. “That’s a shame.” The car’s got horns though. “I was going to thank them for looking out for the company.”

“More’s the pity then,” Merlin says.

The bell rings.

“So…” he starts but trails off. Merlin’s behind his desk. Right then. He unfolds himself out of the chair, wincing and lamenting that sitting there was probably a very bad decision.

“Bye Arthur."

His arms drop to his sides and he swallows thickly. “Oh…uh, right. Bye Merlin.”

In the corrido he hears children running. Laughter and shouting. Just as he reaches the door, he catches Merlin’s voice. “Arthur?”

“Yes?” he queries with one hand still on the door.

“There’s a new sushi place I want to try out.”

“Drop by the office tomorrow.” He smiles as he leaves.

**...**

She flees to Japan. 

“Mithian?”

Ears picking up the sound of shuffling, he gets to the bedroom and sees a suitcase.

“What’s going on?” He’d normally greet her with a kiss but she’s giving off weird vibes that tell him he’s better off allowing her space.

Another drawer opens and dresses are taken out and tossed into the suitcase. “I got a job.”

“Really? That’s great…where?”

“Japan.”

“Japan?” _Oh god. I’m going to have to move to Japan._ “When…when’s the flight?”

“Tonight.”

And part of him knows, had figured it out as soon as he saw the suitcases when he walked in, but the other part of him feels this devastation rippling through his body and pounding against his heart.  “You weren’t going to tell me.”

“Admittedly I haven’t done this very well. You deserved better.”

Logically he knows that they were tightrope walking this relationship. He knows that if he was to fall it would be on the side of break-up but it doesn’t hurt him any less. “So us…”

Mithian looks at him so calmly that to an outsider it would appear like they were chatting about the weather. “You don’t want me.” She says it as if he’s viewed her as a placeholder, like he’s waiting for better to come along and feels disgust roll low in his stomach.

“Ow!” He brings up his hand to touch the back of his head. “You hit me! What was that for?”

She shakes out her hand. “You’re thinking too much about this. It’s written all over your face.” She rolls her eyes and sits next to him on her jeans and shirts not caring that they’re creasing under her weight. “You’ve fallen in love. You think you haven’t, but you have, and it’s not with me.” He starts to protest but she barrels over him. “To be honest, I think I saw it too, but you know. Wishful thinking on my part...”

He drives her to the airport later that night. Empty promises to keep in touch are made. She kisses him one last time on the forehead, standing on the very tips of her toes before disappearing through a mass of people.

The ring in his pocket never serves its purpose.

He gets a text message as he walks to his car, night air cold and crisp in his lungs.

_Meet me at the park near my place, if you want._

It takes him three hours to get there. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Merlin is still there, waiting in the mind-numbing cold.

“You’re still here?”

He finds the bench.

Merlin’s wrapped up in a long purple scarf, beanie pulled over his head so that only his eyes can be seen. “For as long as you need,” his muffled voice says. He audibly huffs and pulls the scarf down a little lower.

“How do you even know?” Brushing the chair down, he tilts his head back, the dark sky looming above him like an untouchable weight on his body. Unmovable and interfering.

Merlin curses and pulls the scarf lower still so that his mouth is visible and his voice is clear.

“Hey- no, stop it. It’s cold-“ Hands, moving before his mind, pull up the scarf. Precautions should be taken in the cold weather.  

Merlin bats his hands away catching a wrist. “She called me…from the plane. She was crying.”

Guilt immediately knots in his throat for thinking that this was so easy for her. The red velvet box still in his pocket is brought out and opened. The diamond catches the streetlight sending it sparkling.

“Wow…” Merlin pulls the ring out, holding it up to the light. “Did she…break up with you before or after?”

His fingers pluck the ring out of Merlin’s fingers and put it back in the box. “Before.”

“I’m sorry Arthur.”

“Not half as sorry as I am, believe me.”

“Did she tell you why?”

_Yes._

“No.”

Merlin fiddles with the end of his scarf. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to pick up the rest of my stuff and then I’m going to go home and sleep.”

Merlin stands up with him.

“You aren’t coming with me.”

“Why not? It’ll be faster this way.”

“Merlin you aren’t coming with me and if you follow me I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

Thankfully he doesn’t hear footsteps following him back to his car. Although, as he walks away, he thinks he hears Merlin say, _at least he didn’t threaten me with a spoon._

**...**

Arthur isn’t afraid to admit that his pride a little more than dented for the next few weeks. He keeps up all pretence of being okay but he really isn’t.

"Arthur! You can't ignore me forever. I know you're in there...I followed you!"

So Merlin is a stalker. Wonderful. He's now known Merlin for what feel like forever even though it  isn’t and actually considers him to be his best friend,  but on the other hand Merlin did just admit to following home - he might need to reconsider Leon…or Lance for the coveted position of Arthur's Best Friend because got knows it's not going to be Morgana - and yes, capitals are necessary.

"I'm going to sleep outside the door if I have to!"

Another voice joins Merlin. No, wait it's against Merlin. Arthur presses closer to the door hearing, a lower voice yell.

_"Shut up!"_

_"Why don't you shut up!"_

_"Listen, you want me to call the cops?"_

_"Yeah go ahead, I'll just wait here trying to get him to open the door."_

He thumps his head against the door once and opens it a little, because as Merlin's best friend (Merlin hasn't said anything to him yet about it - but it's a two way street with these sort of things isn't it?) it's his duty to not let his mate get into trouble with the coppers. "Merlin shut up and go home."

Merlin frowns; palm resting against the door frame. "Let me in, I really don't fancy the idea of the police."

He opens the door a little wider, breathing a little easier when Merlin takes a step away and says with as much desperation as he can force though his voice, "Merlin leave."

Stubborn bastard that he is, Merlin sits down crosslegged. "Let me in."

 _Is it fucking opposite day or is it just you Merlin?_ "No. 

"Arthur, please."

"Merlin, for god's sake! Leave me-" there’s a crash from inside his kitchen...at least he thinks it’s his kitchen if the sound of shattering glassware is anything to go by. "Damn." He closes the door quickly and slides the chain in place.

_Breathe Arthur, just…breathe…_

He needs a few minutes, just to compose himself…to figure out how to get rid of-

"Arthur! What the hell was that? Arthur if you don't let me in I'm going to sic Gwen and Morgana on you...right now. Look."

- _Merlin._

Arthur peers through the peephole.

Merlin makes a show of scrolling through his contacts and highlighting Gwen's number, thumb hovering over 'call', "I'm going to call and tell them that you were in an accident if you don't open the door."

No one was supposed to find out. No one.

He’s horrified to hear his voice break as he pleads again. “Merlin, you have to leave.”

As if Merlin’s pasted to the back of the door, there’s a low growl that’s laced with worry. “I’ll pitch a fucking tent outside your door.” And it’s the simple fact that Arthur knows with a hundred percent certainty that Merlin would – he’d find a tent and put it in the middle of the corridor not giving two shits about blocking it – that has his trembling fingers slide the chain across leaving the door unlocked and Arthur so very vulnerable.

He opens the door and comes out, quickly shutting the door behind him. Truth is, he's so bloody tired of all this. He wants to be normal. He wants to be able to come home from work and not navigate his home like a minefield. He wants to be able to bring home a date and not feel ashamed of how he lives because right now, what he projects to the world is Dr Jekyll, his secret amounts to Mr Hyde, and he would like nothing more than to kill off that ugly, twisted part of himself. 

The only problem is...he doesn't know how.

Merlin stares at him, troubled. "Arthur, say something, you're beginning to scare me."

"I…" he tries. He really does but the words get stuck in the middle of his throat with no desire to come. "Gods, Merlin."

"Hey, it's okay. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can work it out."

Arthur shakes his head. "I don't think this can be fixed."

Merlin doesn't respond to this and a small part of Arthur wants to smirk in triumph.

"Give me your keys."

"What?"

"Give me your keys and wait out here."

"No, Merlin don't-"

"You can either tell me what it is, or let me find out for myself."

"This is stupid."

"In or out, whatever you're hiding, I promise, I'm not going to care," Merlin says. He shoots Arthur a little grin. "Unless you've been killing puppies." Merlin's grin turns sombre with widened blue eyes and a faux trembling bottom lip. "If you have, then you are never ever to contact me." Faster than Arthur blinks, Merlin's back to a small smile and steps forward to put the key into lock.

Arthur’s hands are feeling clammy and he's knows that he's a few minutes away from fainting - in a very manly way, mind you - to the floor. Merlin is about to find out his secret. Merlin may scream. He kind of wants Merlin to scream, just so he can confirm that Merlin is truly a girl and that would make everything hurt just a little bit less because, in that moment, he can laugh  and revel for at least five seconds before his world turns to shit.

Arthur looks down at the floor when he hears the door swing open Merlin take tentative steps into the flat. Heart hammering in his chest, he draws his arms over his chest waiting for a scream, yelling, a gasp...and Christ, is this really happening? This is seriously the one moment that Merlin decides to be quieter than a door mouse and keep his trap shut and all Arthur wants is for him to say something, or babble. Seriously, he'd love some babbling right now.

With his head still lowered and his eyes tracking patterns in the blood coloured carpet he doesn't see Merlin's mouth drop open. Or the quick flash of sadness that crosses his face. The downturn lips that follow or the hands that fight the impulse to straighten up a hazardous pile that leans further than the Leaning Tower of Piza.

What he thinks he hears is Merlin's soft broken voice that says, " _Destiny has not been kind to you my King,”_ which of course he's being ridiculous. His head is probably making words up to be kinder to him than his ears which seem to be magnifying the sound of his rushing blood. Breathing in fast little gasps he barely notices Merlin coming out of his own personal hell. Warm fingers meander down his arm and finally encase his hand, the grasp tight and assured. He can feel heat build where Merlin's thumb rubs the top of his knuckles as they lean side by side against the wall with the door still open before them.

"You haven’t said anything yet."

"Well, what do you want me to say?"

"I dunno: this is disgusting, how can you live like this, just throw everything out." He stops the rush of words to take in a breath. The hope is that Merlin won't say any of that and he mostly knows that Merlin won't say that, but, you know...just in case, he gives Merlin an out and finishes with: "You don't have to say anything, I mean, you could just leave...if you want. My number accidently got deleted from your mobile, you forgot where I lived, you've been busy-"

"Don't be daft." Merlin tightens his fingers.

"Not being daft...I'm being realistic, you can’t fix me Merlin."

He finally looks up to see anger in Merlin's eyes. "You aren't broken."

"If I'm not broken than what am I?"

"Just a little…" Merlin squeezes his hand again as if waiting for the right word to come to him. "You're just a little lost."

The first thing Merlin does is tell him to pack a bag. He tries to protest but the man just manoeuvres him bodily through the flat, stepping - no, floating through piles of detritus as Arthur stumbles along behind him.

“Merlin, you don’t have to do this!”

“Nearly a thousand years later and he still thinks I listen to him,” Merlin mumbles.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Nothing, but keep packing.”

He pushes a t-shirt into a bag. “It’s kind of you to allow me to stay over but Merlin-“Merlin rounds on him. “I’m fine here, honestly.” 

“Arthur.” Merlin comes up behind him and takes the bag from his hand. He frowns and then quickly glances over the room before picking out a small stained envelope that Arthur had found on the flat doorstep. “Where did you get this from?” Arthur tells him. “Why are you keeping it?”

A small tendril of anxiety begins to unfurl in his chest. “Just in case.”

Merlin nods once. “Okay, are you ready?”

“Yeah…” he trails off as they exit his flat. Merlin clutches the water-stained envelope. “Why do you still have that?”

They stop in front of Merlin’s car. Merlin puts Arthur’s bag into the back, and then hands the envelope to him. “I want you to throw this in the bin.”

_No. Please…it’s mine. You can’t have it. Mine. Not yours. I need it. I need it. I need to remember. Mine._

Arthur looks down at the object in his hands and then up to the window of his flat, cursing himself for believing that Merlin was different and that he wouldn’t look at him like Vivian had…or his father…or even Percy when it all started getting a bit too much.

“Arthur…Arthur, can you hear me?” Merlin quickly takes his shoulders shaking them once. “Arthur?”

He doesn’t want Merlin to see the tears building up in his eyes. “No…it’s mine. If you want to throw out your own shit then you can, but you can’t throw out _mine!_ ”

“But Arthur,” Merlin says quietly, “What purpose do you have for it?”

“I’ll need it in the future, you never know.”

“I’ll buy you new ones.”

“But I _need_ this one!” it takes him a second to realise that he’s shouting. He blinks, ears catching the crinkling of paper that’s clutched closed to his chest in a solid fist, shoulders hunched in and away from Merlin.

Merlin doesn’t look angry, or disappointed. There’s just a slightly wistful look on his face that Arthur can’t even begin to understand. The little furl of anxiety loosens ever so slightly as Merlin nods once telling Arthur to get into the car if he wants to.

Arthur does.

As they drive, neither of them mentions the tiny envelope still sitting between Arthur’s trembling palm and the blue cotton covering his chest.

 **...**  

They're hanging out on the couch together with cartoons of empty Chinese food between them.

“Hey Princess, how long do you reckon you’ll be staying for?” Gwaine gives him a pointed look and Arthur can’t help but squirm a little still unsure about whether him staying will step on any toes.

“Not sure…hopefully not too long.” Merlin stares at him as he carries the cartons to the bin and tidies the little piles of wayward rice and corn that escaped the clutches of Mr Chopsticks and Merlin's black hole of doom.

Harsh whispers are traded between the two on the couch. “Gwaine! Stop being an arse.”

“Mate I’m just looking out for you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what you said six months ago – mopey is what you were and now he’s living here.”

“Gwaine, sod off okay. He needs support not a bleeding interrogation.” Gwaine just shakes his head muttering under his breath. A quick look up has his eyes meet Arthur with an unintelligible look that Arthur strains to understand.

“I’m going to work.” The door slams shut behind him.

So a less than an enthusiastic response. Cautiously, he edges away from the kitchen. "Are you sure this is okay? Gwaine doesn’t seem too thrilled.”

“Gwaine will adapt.” Merlin says it with such confidence but would he really? He has half a mind to point out that Gwaine appears slightly jealous but saves the observation for later because Merlin is obviously trying to start a conversation with him – “…go and talk to someone?" A chill settles in his bones. Merlin’s still on the couch chasing stray strands of bamboo shoots not looking at him.

"Sorry, you want me to talk to someone…like a therapist?"

"Well sort of-"

"I'm not crazy Merlin…and you know what fuck you,” he says slamming the door on his way out.

**…**

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?" Morgana walks past him as if she never smashed the back of his skull with her freaky diamond-strength hand 

"You've upset Merlin."

Of course she would take Merlin’s side in all this. Saint Merlin who can do no wrong. “ _I've_ upset Merlin. What about me? He wants to send me to a shrink!”

"Sweetheart, you didn't let him finish, did you?" She orders a coffee.

"I didn't need to."

"He doesn't want you to see a shrink. He wants you to talk to his mother."

"His mother?" Why on earth would he want to do that? Not that there’s anything wrong with meeting her, the way Merlin talks about her is absolutely lovely and he’d be happy to meet her but _why?_

"Yes you idiot, his mother - she's was a bit like you."

"A bit like me?"

"Stop parroting everything I say. Yes Arthur, hoarded things, just like you."

She says it so simply like a gift bereft of bows and shiny paper – a thing where the delivery behind it means more than the gift itself. “I’m not...” he lets out a laugh filled with derision. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snatches a paper napkin from holder and fiddles with one of its corners.

Morgana just sighs placing a hand on his forearm and squeezing gently. “I’ve known for a while now. Why do you think I never went into your room as a teenager?” She clutches on a bit tighter and Arthur fights back a wince. “I saw it once. I was angry at you...and I wanted to destroy your room.” She lets out a little huff. “You wouldn’t have noticed anything I had done. Your mother caught me, explained it.”

“She took me to doctors and psychologists as a child… father wanted to put me on medication.”

He folds the napkin carefully.

“Grade A parenting from Uther. He’s in denial that his ‘perfect’ son is like everyone else.”

He hasn’t seen his father since he retired. He hasn’t talked to him since the whole Vivian debacle. She had been telling people about what he saw but no one really believed her. She was too vapid, brain empty, family desperate to climb in the ranks. His father had been there though, walked in as she was telling a small group of people. Arthur had watched it all, heard it too. His father’s face had gone blank, a fake smile in place – he put her in her place but that was all. “You mean disappointing?”

She shakes her head. He folds his napkin again, eyes glued to the lotus he’s creating, Morgana silent next to him. A few moments later a crane with asymmetrical wings and roughly creased edges slide over into his line of vision.  “ _Flawed_.”

Morgana puts the lotus in her bag.

Arthur puts the crane in his pocket.

**...**

He calls Merlin the next day after staying over with Morgana and Leon _(“Hey can you not tell Leon—Arthur, I know how to keep a secret”…)_

“Merlin?”

_“Yep.”_

“I…I apologise for last night. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, or shouted at you.” Silence greets him on the other end of the line and he pulls the phone away to check that he did in fact call Merlin.  “Merlin, are you there?”

_“Hmm? Right, no I’m here, just a little shocked.”_

“Why? Listen, I’m sorry it took me so long to call.”

_“It isn’t that.”_

“Then what?”

_“You’ve apologised to me twice in less than five minutes – it’s made me feel a little faint.”_

“You really are a girl aren’t you?”

_“Hey! I’m not the one who left in a tizzy without hearing me out.”_

“No one uses tizzy Merlin.”

 _“I did, and I’m clearly someone so ha!”_ Merlin crows happily.

“You just fist pumped the air.”

_“…I didn’t.”_

“You’re a dork – and I know you did.”

 _“Whatever,”_ Merlin mumbles.

“Okay. Well I guess I’ll see you later.”

_“Bye Arthur.”_

Minutes later his phone vibrates against the couch; Merlin’s name appearing on screen.

_“So does this mean you’re meeting my mum?”_

**…**

“Quit tapping.”

“Huh?” Broken out of his revelry his hand drops from the top of the dash to his jeans. Merlin quickly glances at him and picks up the pointer finger of his left hand.

“This,” he says with his eyes still on the road, “and this,” he drops his finger onto the dash; the connection makes a hollow _thwap_ , “put together make a noise that I’ve had to deal with since we left a half hour ago.”  Merlin slows to a stop at the red traffic light and turns in his seat. “If this makes you uncomfortable just say the word and I’ll take you home.”

“I’m okay,” Arthur says. He turns his head a little and shoots Merlin a smile that wobbles around the edges. Not completely okay, but good enough. “Really,” he says – to reassure Merlin or himself, he’s not sure, but the light turns green and they’re moving again. 

They pull up into the driveway and Arthur finds himself wrapped up in a hug before he even closes the car door.

“You must be Arthur.”

Awkwardly he pats her on the back ignoring the roll of Merlin’s eyes that seem to say, _she’s not a bloke Arthur._ “Mrs Emrys, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Drawing away she takes his hand and pulls him into the house. “It’s Hunith, if you don’t mind. And it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Merlin raves about you.”

“Does he?”

“Mum,” Merlin whines.

“Hush you. You are so easy to rile up,” she tuts. “Shall we put on some porridge?”

“Mum, that’s not funny. I told you that in confidence.”

Two sets of eyes turn to him and Arthur just stands awkwardly near the entrance. “Sorry love, very old private joke between mother and son.”

Sitting in the living room he can see remnants of the challenge he has yet to face.

“Mum! You said you wouldn’t buy anymore!” Merlin yells from the kitchen. He comes out with a set of frying pans with the receipt still taped to the box.

“It was a sale!” Merlin stares. She throws her hands up dramatically with a wink in Arthur’s direction. “Fine! I’ll return it.”

Merlin disappears back into the kitchen and her easy demeanour dampens. It’s almost unnoticeable but Arthur catches the flash of a downturned mouth and solemn expression.

“It’s still not easy after all these years?” he asks.

“Oh my dear child, I’m sorry but this may be a lifelong battle.” She smooths out her skirt, eyes still assessing him with empathy.

It’s a statement. Not a question. “You know. “

“My son rarely keeps secrets from me. Then again, he only did this so I wouldn’t say something improper. I understand how difficult talking about these things can be-”

“Mum, I’ll just go down to the store and return this. You’ll be okay right?”

What he wants to say is ‘no Merlin, I’m afraid your mother might kill me and plant in the back garden’, but Merlin looks at him, harried, like he’d actually stay if Arthur told him no. Instead he replies: “Don’t be such a worrywart. Get me chocolate.”

With a sarcastic bow - and Arthur can tell it’s sarcastic because Merlin seems to have a gift for that sort of thing – he departs. “Yes sire.”

They don’t descend into uncomfortable silence but it’s a near thing. At least on his part; still unsure about what he’s meant to get out of this and Hunith kind enough to not hurry him along...

“Significant other?”

Until she asks him that. He tries not to wince as he considers his dating history. “It never ends well.”

“That’s unfortunate. Though be grateful that you didn’t have children.” She looks at him, clearly in pain. “Balinor moved out when Merlin was two and a half because he couldn’t stand living with me.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, though his heart instantly goes out to Merlin at being abandoned. 

His line of thinking must show on his face because Hunith takes his arm gently and squeezes. “He didn’t leave. He came around every day after work and on weekends, but I hadn’t coped well with the changes and…” her breathing stutters to a halt. “Merlin, my poor baby boy…it wasn’t safe, living with me. He got into running and he accidently tugged one of the stacks down on top of him. Lord, the screams that came out of that boy.”

His heart beats faster and he feels sweat collect in his palms. “Merlin was hurt?”

“I don’t know if you’ve seen him shirtless…” he chokes on his spit and Hunith laughs “…but he’s got scars on his left shoulder. There was just glass everywhere, and blood…I begged Balinor to keep him. For his own safety while I got help.”

“He never told me.”

“And he probably wouldn’t. He’s forgiving like that but I wouldn’t blame him for being angry. This was no place for him as a child.”

She feels small next to him, fragile like the glass that probably shattered over Merlin’s shoulder.

**...**

He thanks the heavens that there isn’t a leather couch in sight.

“Hello Arthur.”

Arthur nods.

The hour passes in silence.

His therapist closes the notebook. “Next week it might be beneficial for you to talk.”

**…**

_“You asked Morgana for help.”_

They’re in the kitchen together, Morgana and him, going through a small pile of Arthur’s belongings that’s near the fridge. “I did,” he confirms into the phone. Morgana holds up a small pile of glass dishes and he shudders thinking about what Hunith had told him. The urge to discard them is so strong that he mimes getting his throat slit.

Morgana grins like she’s never been happier.

“Christ that is scary,” Percival says with a tilt of his head in her direction. Morgana had found him through Facebook a few months ago. He stands waiting for the bags that he can take downstairs.

_“I would’ve helped. You should have told me you were going to start clearing out your flat.”_

“You’ve been through it once. I don’t want you to have to go through it again. You’re mum still does it, and it kills her every time she breaks.” He throws the bread tabs into the black garbage bag, and puts the plastic spoon into his ‘keep’ pile.

_“But I love her anyway and she never had to ask. Besides I’m offering.”_

Morgana holds up a wad of scrunched up plastic bags. His brain tells him keep. She tosses it and he snaps. “Morgana! Keep them!” With her hands held out placating towards him, she reaches back finding the wad and cautiously hands it over to him.

 **...**  

“Lance what’s going on?” He keeps his eyes closed, the light too bright for his still sleeping mind to adjust to.

“I’m sorry to call you so late but I wanted to tell you something. Hang on I’m going to put you on speaker phone,” he sounds positively ecstatic.  

Arthur rubs his eyes and waits hearing a giggle down the line. “Lance?”

“Arthur!” Gwen squeals.

He smiles and clears his voice. “Morning Gwen, assuming you just got in? What’ve you been up to?”

She waits a beat and then shouts: “I’m getting married!”

Arthur eyes fly open and he shoots up into a sitting position, the phone now in his hand. “You what? Really? That’s brilliant. Congratulations!” Gwen shouts her thanks but then Lance accepts it quietly. “Lance, what’s wrong, you can’t be regretting her already?” he says it in jest.

Gwen huffs a laugh. “I’ll leave him to explain it.”

The phone is turned off speaker, Lance’s voice now more direct. “I’m not, I just…you’re okay with this right? You dated her first-“

Arthur balks fumbling with the phone. He shouldn’t really be surprised at the question. Considering that this is Lance he should’ve expected it. Technically he’s already answered it when Lance came up to him stuttering about wanting to date Gwen in the first place. “We broke up when we were sixteen – trust me what I tell you that it’s a hundred percent fine.”

Lance lets out a long whoosh of air. Poor guy must’ve been holding his breath. “Hey, so be my best man?”

“You’ll have the best bachelor party ever,” he says seriously.

“Gwen’s asking Morgana to be her maid of honour.”

Fear of accidently angering his sister before the wedding runs through him. “But I’m going to have to walk down the aisle with her!” Her in pointy heels? He sends an apology to his toes.

 **...**  

“Would you be amenable to the idea of me coming to your flat and seeing it for myself?”

“No.”

“Arthur, I wouldn’t demand you throw it all away.” More notes are scribbled into the notebook. “If you could save one thing in your flat what would it be?”

He feels completely distraught at this line of questioning and it must show on his face because his therapist makes another note and amends it without looking at him. “It’s just hypothetical.”

Tension releases from shoulders and he considers the question carefully. It only takes him a few minutes to go through everything he can remember in his flat until he lands on a particular item. “My…my mum. She, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “She made me this scrap book…when I was I dunno…like fifteen?”

“Do you still have it?”

“Yeah. It’s wrapped up. I put it in a box.”

“Okay.” The therapist leans forward. “You’ve only got a few seconds to grab this item if there was a fire…or a flood…end of the world…”

Dramatic much?

Arthur never expects the next words to come out of her mouth: “Where is it?”

Cold floods through him and he can feel the blood drain from his face. “I-I-oh my god…” Mentally he tries to go through his flat, he can barely remember the layout of the rooms. The clock in the corner ticks loudly and he starts hearing his own breathing in his ears. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember.”

He clutches the arm rest of the chair tighter and fights his shallow breathing. “ _I don’t know_.”

**...**

He _had_ been pulling back. He thought it would be kinder to not be so dependent on a person. Maybe lessen the…pining, really focus on himself and try to get better. Be functioning. Begin to live. Merlin had gone through it once, he didn’t have to do it again. And despite Merlin’s reassurances Arthur had meant it.

Merlin hasn’t been by the flat. Arthur doesn’t stay with Merlin. They see each other occasionally for lunch...and Merlin has accepted it – he didn’t even put up a fight, just faded into that background obscurity that friends tend to do until someone seeks the other out.

Always within arms-reach.

Arthur accepted it too. Or at least he did until Merlin texted him, inviting him to dinner and Arthur accepted.

They sit across from each other. The light isn’t low enough to be romantic, the food is simple and homey, non-impressive. They talk about Merlin’s students and Arthur’s business. Arthur asks after Hunith. Merlin asks after his treatment so directly that he takes a moment to blink.

It’s nice. And that’s when it all gets blown to fucking kingdom come. There outside standing in the carpark when Merlin tells him that he has some news and then pulls out a glossy envelope handing it to Arthur.

“You’re leaving?” Arthur’s heart stops as he takes the plane ticket outstretched from Merlin’s hand.

“Not for long. I’m just going to visit my father.”  

“But what about your students…” What he really wants to say is no. How can Merlin think of leaving him right now?       

“I’ve arranged a teacher to take over.”

“But you’re needed here! You’re abandoning them…your mum needs you.” He wants to finish with, ‘I need you too’, but pride means that he won’t use himself as a reason to make Merlin stay.

“I’m entitled to have a holiday and she’s coped without me before.”

He can’t let Merlin leave. “Please don’t go.” Arms come around Merlin’s shoulders to pull him in close. He intends it to be a hug, a final platonic plea of consideration before he has to say goodbye.

A desperate man would take it further. A desperate man would crush mouths together, pouring in every piece of their soul, saying every unspoken word that never mingled with the cacophony of life. He would kiss with a gentleness of a thousand unmade actions in the hopes of saying; _you are worth more than life itself._

On this night, in front of their cars, outside in the carpark, Arthur is this desperate man.

Merlin stills. Body rigid. Something broken and distressed in his voice. Hands find his chest and for a moment; one sweet moment of bliss, he swears that Merlin’s kissing him back, but then, the hands are pushing him away, a small shaky voice muting the drum beats crashing in his ears and silencing the world. “Arthur, let me go.”

Immediately he releases Merlin, realising what he’s just done. “Shit. I’m sorry…oh crap.” He steps back, the crunch of gravel uncomfortable loud in the silence space between them. His hands come up covering his mouth.

Merlin backs away like a spooked horse, back hitting the door of the car. “I’ve-“ his voice breaks, eyes watering, “-gotta go,” he finishes jumping into the car and leaving Arthur alone in the mist.

**…**

> _Sender: Arthur Pendragon_
> 
> Hi Merlin. It’s Arthur. Listen I’m sorry. Can we talk about what happened?
> 
> _Message Received: 10:45PM_

**...**

> _Sender: Arthur Pendragon_
> 
> Merlin, please…I really am sorry.
> 
> _Message Received: 1:45AM_

**...**

> _Sender: Arthur Pendragon_
> 
> Merlin, where are you? Just forget about It alright. It never happened. Now can you please let me know where you are so I can see you?”
> 
> _Message Received: 8:45AM_

**...**

> _Sender: Arthur Pendragon_
> 
> Merlin…just, would you send me a text…that’s all I’m asking for.
> 
> _Message Received: 11:49PM_

**...**

“What did you do to him?” Gwaine pushes Arthur roughly outside the pub.

He’s only walking by because it’s on the way to the shops. He ran out of toothpaste. It’s been four days since The Disaster, and this is the first time he’s left the house since then. He doesn’t need any trouble. Just go out and then go home.

Nothing complicated.

No detours.

No pit stops.

No confrontation…

Except today, Gwaine is endeavouring to screw up all those conditions. “Nothing!”

“Then why has he been crying for days.”

He wishes he could take it all back. He should have left after Mithian. Start fresh in a new town where no one knew him. Like with being in witness protection where you can’t keep in contact because it’s too dangerous. He frowns. Witness protection isn’t just an American thing is it?

Gwaine shakes him a little. _Answer Arthur._ “I swear I didn’t do anything to him…I found out he was leaving...and I kissed him.”

Gwaine blinks. “You kissed him?”

“Yeah, he freaked out.”

“ _You_ kissed him?”

“What of it?” He bristles thinking that Gwaine has issues about his orientation, which is laughable because it’s _Gwaine;_ the guy who indiscrimsinately shags people as if every night is his last night on earth

 “You’re coming with me…now.”

“Gwaine I’m really not interested in-”

“Believe me, if it were any other time…” Arthur doesn’t know whether to be flattered or disturbed, “…but this is not an offer. We’re going to Merlin.”

“He doesn’t want to see me…he made that perfectly clear.”

“Merlin doesn’t know what he wants.”

He keeps trying to run, but Gwaine’s grip is too tight to remove. When they reach the house Arthur’s seriously contemplating how much damage he’ll have if he chews his arm off.

Gwaine flings open the door, pulling Arthur in behind him. Arthur politely shuts the door. “Merlin! I’m back – get your skinny arse out here, we need to talk.”

“Gwaine for the last time, I’m not in the mood to go out and get wasted, or laid, or plant flipping flowers-“ Merlin’s shoulders hunch over even more at the sight of him. “Arthur?”

“Merlin,” he nods.

“What are you doing here?”

Arthur finds himself pushed further into the living room. Gwaine removes his jacket draping it over one of the arm chairs. “You owe him an explanation.”

Arthur nods dumbly. “I want an explanation.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Gwaine retreats.

“You changed something in here.”

“Redecorated a bit. Had the time.”

“But you’re moving?”

“It’s not for long, few months, maybe less. I need some space from…things. My heads not clear…I was going to visit my dad.”

“I thought you were leaving because of me.”

“No…well, maybe a bit.”

“Merlin, did I do something wrong?”

At this Merlin quickly rushes forward, hands flailing in the air between them. “Christ, Arthur you-you’re so fucking perfect-“

Arthur snorts and Merlin glares at him sharply. “You are. Okay maybe not in that whole wide world way, but you are to _me_.” He puts a hand up. “Sappy, girly, blah blah blah,” he says sarcastically but then his face changes and he looks away over Arthur’s shoulder like he can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. “There’s just, I…oh fuck I don’t know how to explain this…”

Feeling obligated to make this easier Arthur begins poking around at the bits and pieces that decorate the place. On a book shelf he notices a disk about the size of his palm. It’s silvery, some sort of bird on it. Metal. He peers at it closer, and it halts his breath.

He’s seen it before. He’s drawn it before.

Carefully his picks it up, letting the weight rest and turns to Merlin. “Hey, what’s this?”

Merlin’s eyes grow terrifyingly wide and he rushes forwards. “Don’t touch that!”

But it’s too late.

At first everything moves so quickly. He’s being jostled in a million different directions like he’s in the middle of a busy crowd. Images, flashes, feelings all take up residence in his mind and it’s so much. It’s too much for him to handle, too sharp, painful, quick. He wants to scream.

And then it slows down.

It’s like he’s swimming, fighting through a foggy depth that dulls his senses. He’s not weightless though, he’s being dragged down. He opens his eyes in the murkiness. Shapes dance slowly, blurred and shadowed. Looking up there’s this speck of light, this laser like yellow beam that cuts through him. He looks down, tries to see the bottom of whatever he’s in – get his bearings, but there’s nothing there.

And then there’s a voice.

He closes his eyes again and swims up. The murkiness begins to clear. The light grows brighter. Momentum lessens the weight and he finally breaks through to the surface only to find two sets of eyes gazing down upon him.

“Arthur! Oh shit, can you hear me? Come on you stupid prat, wake up!” Merlin’s got his hands fisted in Arthur’s shirt. And he keeps looking at Gwaine as if he has all the answers of the universe.

“Talking like that only works if he’s the king,” Gwaine mutters, resting on his knees. “Arthur, do you recognise us? Do you know where you are?”

“Merlin?” Arthur coughs once and looks down at his hands, the sigil. “This is my mother’s sigil…how did you get it?”

“Arthur I need you tell me what you saw?”

A thousand different things run through his mind. “I saw you…Camelot…I was king.” He points at Gwaine. “You were a knight!” _Stupid,_ his mind chastises. “Merlin, what the hell was that?!”

“You have to calm down.”

It feels like his mind is being split into two. Screaming seems like a brilliant course of action to temper the pain that is radiating right from the centre of his forehead. “I died…how could I have died? I’m right her perfectly fine,” he tried to stand, knees buckling under his weight and hitting his elbow on the shelf.  

“You’ll hurt yourself-“ Merlin tries.

“I married Gwen.”

_Long live the queen._

“No…that’s impossible. Me and Gwen broke up when I was sixteen.”

“Arthur please, you need to calm down!” Merlin touches his knee and Arthur scuttles back a little.

“I kissed you…” As he says the words, his body lurches and he whispers horrified at himself, “It’s illegal to have relations with a man.”

Merlin devastation must mirror his own.

“Arthur, listen to me-“

His eyes widen. “You cast a spe…” the sentence dies quickly, only to be replaced with, “I am losing my mind.” He gasps, a hand going to his stomach at the sharp pressure of a blade cutting through his flash. When he looks down there is no wound but when he stares at his fingers he sees red coating the tips. “What did you do to me?!”

“Nothing I promise, but you have to calm down.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down.” There’s something settling in the back of his mind. Just underneath the surface of his conscious something clicks…but it doesn’t make sense.

“Take a step back Merlin.” Gwaine moves Merlin back and Arthur would be grateful for the space but he can’t find the words. He can’t even think.

All he sees right now is Merlin but it’s not Merlin. There’s the Merlin standing in front of him this modern Merlin, still dressed in duck pyjama pants and a black t-shirt with glasses on the bridge of his nose. But then there’s this other Merlin that’s superimposed over him. A brown pair of cotton pants, with a blue shirt and a red scarf covering his neck. “I’ve gotta get out,” he gasps.

“Arthur wait!”

Merlin’s killed people.

“Don’t come near me. Don’t call me, don’t text me…just forget I existed.” He scrambles back and having finally found his feet starts for the door.

“Let me explain-“

“Merlin. Let him go mate.”

**...**

“Arthur, are you going to say anything?”

Arthur keeps his mouth clamped shut already regretting his decision to keep up with his therapy. A small voice in the back of his mind begins to call him weak. _Bet King Arthur would never have to have therapy._

“Have you brought anything new?” she asks. The notebook has not been opened yet.

_How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything that I taught him?_

“Arthur, you said that your sister was helping you. What about your father?”

 _I tried to kill him once.  I almost committed patricide._ He shifts his gaze to her, daring her to read his mind. _How about you put that in your damn notebook?_

She sighs. “What happened? You were doing really well. Remember, I can only help you if you tell me what’s going on.”

The desire to rush over and stand above with hands on either side of her on the arm rests is so strong that he has to step on his foot. A safeguard ensuring that he’ll trip over if he tries. He wants to yell right in her face – _I haven’t known what's going on for thirty years._

She prods again. “How has work been?”

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t been.

_…destroying my legacy?_

Folding her hands neatly, she leans towards him, making sure to hold his attention before speaking. “Arthur. You need to tell me. You aren’t wasting my time – never think that, but you aren’t living a quality of life that makes you happy. You’re still committed to that aren’t you? I can tell that you don’t like asking for help but that sort of thinking has to change. There’s nothing weak about it.  What’s going on?”

He leans forwards, hands resting gently over his knees, face brought in close to hers. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

In the sixty minute session, those are the only words that leave his lips.

**...**

“Arthur! You bastard. Open up the door!” Morgana yells impressively loud.

One of his neighbours, or at least he thinks it’s his neighbour thumps against his living room wall. “Let them in or get rid of them!” is dully yelled across and Arthur curls up tighter on himself.

Muffled voices discuss something for a brief moment before Morgana’s voice carries over once again. “Why the hell does Merlin have a key and I don’t?” Indignation is clear in her voice.

 _Funny thing Morgana_ , Arthur thinks blithely, _Merlin doesn’t actually have a key_.

There’s a small scuffle. Bodies brush up against the wooden door like pacing caged animals. Merlin’s voice rises above it all. “None of you are going in there.”

Merlin pokes his head around the door, and spots him, quickly turning back to the group and telling them to wait there, once again, as he closes the door behind him and makes a show of locking it.

“Sire?” he calls out tentatively.

That title doesn’t ring true in his ears and for Merlin to even dare bringing that up makes something ugly clench around his being, leaving him open and gaping and seething with anger. He snaps back, “Don’t call me that! Don’t you dare!” ”

Standing on shaking feet, he takes a swig of wine only to realise that the bottles empty. He tosses it to the side and snarls. “I thought I told you to forget about me.”

“Couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.” Merlin looks so sincere and Arthur can feel the fight just drain out of his body as he sinks onto the couch. He rests his elbows on his knees and cups the back of his head with interlaced fingers. Feet appear in his field of vision and looks up glaring. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Dunno.” With his eyes closed he can see Merlin in Camelot with his ratty neckerchief and thin brown jacket. He can see Merlin smiling at him in the mornings and – he looks up seeing Merlin now, wearing the same expression that became common on the training field. Brows slightly furrowed; concern in his eyes, a cautious smile that could be easily replaced if ‘King Arthur’ was less than okay. 

“Arthur-“

“I’m a thirty year old man, who can’t let go of anything.” He unlaces his fingers and scrubs his face with a hand. “On top of all that, I’m also King Arthur…not a story or a fairy tale…I’m like reincarnated…” Merlin’s face remains unsurprised. “As children, you knew.”

Merlin nods once. “I did.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I don’t really know. I’m pretty sure I died and got reincarnated and stuff…I just happen to always remember Camelot.”

“You left, after Valiant beat you up. Lance said you left school.”

“I didn’t want to – but I couldn’t help it. If it makes you feel any better I did try to fight my parents on it – but I never really had the heart to give them much trouble. I lucked out getting them again. They remembered too. It feels weird calling them mum and dad. Mum insisted; said mother was ‘impersonal’.

“Why didn’t you say anything to me then? All it took was one touch and I would’ve known!”

“I didn’t want to scare you away!”

“You didn’t want to scare me away, bang up job you’ve done of that now haven’t you?”

“Arthur.”

“Gods Merlin, do you have any idea what it’s like…CBT only goes so far. All I’m getting told is that I have issues with people leaving me, or that I was filling up this gap. I can’t explain it. Something was missing, I must’ve known…even as a child.”

“You can’t hold me responsible for that.”

“I bloody well can because it turns out I was missing you!”

He picks up one of his boxes and turns it upside down watching yellow aged paper fall to merlin’s feet like dirty snow.

“That’s me.” Merlin says astonished, eyes finding the piece of paper that lay atop of the rest. “You drew me all those years ago.”

“I was four when I first made a dragon out of kitchen tubes, a colander and cellophane.”

“That’s incredible.”

Arthur pulls another the box closer to him gesturing for Merlin to poke around at his…he doesn’t even know what to call it…intuition?

“You left me then, and you were trying to leave me now.”

“After we started getting,” Merlin hesitates and searches for a word, “close…I panicked. Gwaine kept telling me that it wasn’t fair to you – coming into a relationship where I essentially knew more about you than you did. He’s surprisingly sensible in this lifetime. At first I didn’t listen to him but…in part I didn’t want to stress you out, especially when you’ve got treatment going as well…but I was beginning to want…”

“Things are still fuzzy. I can’t remember us…back in Camelot…we didn’t…” he trails of letting the implication hang.

“Don’t be stupid, of course not.”

“Wait, what about you?”

“What about me what?”

“If you didn’t then, how can you now?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Over a thousand years give a person a little perspective. I’ve found that love doesn’t care about the packaging. ”

“Do you love me?”

“Always have in some form or another.”

Arthur is quiet for moment taking it in. He thinks back to how he was back in Camelot around Merlin. He frowns. “I think it’s the same for me…to some extent.” He hazards a glance in Merlin’s direction. “This is too deep a discussion. Where’s the alcohol when you need it?”

Merlin pointedly looks at the bottles littering the floor around them. “In your stomach I’m assuming.”

 “So…oh Christ.” The pounding in his head is starting to get uncomfortable. “Me, now likes you…but me then, didn’t…and I’m me then…but I’m me now.”

“Are you speaking as King Arthur or modern Arthur.”

“Which one am I?”

“Whatever you want to be?”

“What about Gwen…and Morgana?” Morgana bangs on the door again like she knows that he’s talking about her. “I was married to Gwen. You killed Morgana.” He winces at that thought. “And yet, I feel only friendship for Gwen and I have no issues with you plunging a sword through my sister’s mid-section.”

“You’re confused.”

“What the fuck do you think?” Merlin flinches. “Of course I’m confused.”

“I really am sorry about all of this.”

“Is it just Morgana out there?”

“Um…no. She bought everyone.” Arthur throws him a look that Merlin ignores instead shrugging his shoulders. “What? They were all worried when you dropped off the face of the earth you prat.”

“So what happens now?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I want-ed…fuck!” It shouldn’t be this difficult. He stands up and paces a little. “I love you. Me, now, loves you.” He brings his hand to his ear and scratches viciously. “But then I go: ‘you can’t love Merlin. What the fuck is wrong with you. Gwen is you’re _wife’_.” He sinks down onto the couch and shoves a pillow over his face. “By the way, the side that says ‘I can’t’ sounds like an arsehole.”

“He wasn’t that bad. You now. Modern you, is a bit softer.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” He prods his tummy frowning.

“…that’s definitely a memory from King Arthur.”  

“Hey! That’s me you’re talking about.” Arthur sighs and sits up properly, pillow clutched to his stomach. “I can’t process anything. I need time to make sense of it all. I need to get better.”

Merlin doesn’t look disappointed. “That’s completely all right you know. I can wait.”

“Can you really though? You just said that were leaving because you were having trouble waiting. It’s not fair to you. You should leave…or I should.”

“You know everything now. I don’t have to tiptoe around you. I can bring up our first fight in the market square and-“

“You cheated with magic! How did I not see that before?” Arthur cuts in quickly turning to glare at Merlin.

“See. I can tell you that Lois thought that her pet snake would make a good show and tell-“

“And Spython got loose and you had to call in the reptile catchers whilst calming down a bunch of crying children,” Arthur finishes.

“I’d rather have some of you than none of you at all.” Merlin mumbles. “I promised I would never leave you. Destiny and all…but now. Even if I had gone, I would’ve come back. I’ll always come back.”

He hears the crash of papers and boxes and chairs and other bits and pieces that he didn’t have the heart to let go of before the walls of detritus move and shift, toppling like dominoes. From outside, Morgana and the others are calling out, concern sharp in their voices.

Arthur rests his head on Merlin’s shoulder as his world collapses around them but it’s okay.

Merlin will pull him out of the mess.

Arthur will let him.

**Author's Note:**

> It's almost been a year since start to finish, writing this fic and I am still very unsure about it. I tried to make this as true as possible (I researched!) but if anything isn't accurate then my wholehearted apologies. If this has caused any distress or offence then by all means let me know. 
> 
> Hopefully this is something different, maybe a little informative but overall, I hope it's enjoyable. Thanks for reading :)


End file.
